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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27007477">The Compromised Factor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatre_Phoenix/pseuds/Theatre_Phoenix'>Theatre_Phoenix</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Factor Alone [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Enola Holmes - Fandom, Enola Holmes Series - Nancy Springer, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Season/Series 03, Attempted Murder, Con Artists, Crime Fighting, Crime Scenes, Everyone Gets A Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family, Family Feels, Friendship, G.K. Chesterton inspired Wilhelm's Philosophy, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Let's Steal A Painting, Murder, Mystery, No Season/Series 04, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Season/Series 04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 10:02:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>41,127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27007477</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatre_Phoenix/pseuds/Theatre_Phoenix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning from the dead, introductions to secrets, resurface of forgotten nightmares, new faces, old enemies - Life is all about the unexpected. Mycroft and Sherlock do not handle unexpected well. Especially when their sister is involved.</p><p>Sequel to 'Unseen Factor', Enola Holmes in BBC Sherlock.<br/>Series 4 does not exist here.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enola Holmes &amp; John Watson, Enola Holmes &amp; Mycroft Holmes, Enola Holmes &amp; Other(s), Enola Holmes &amp; Sherlock Holmes, Mary Morstan/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes &amp; Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Factor Alone [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/47552</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Return and a Year</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Enjoy the next adventure of Enola with her family. Warning, this is a much darker story than the first dealing with much more intense issues that were only alluded to in the first, and, two words - serial killer.</p><p>As always, I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any characters from the original short stories or the BBC show; the same for the Enola Holmes stories and characters from there.</p><p>I am such a huge fan of the original stories that I borrow heavily from them. So if yo notice any similarities that may be why.</p><p>Much thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for beta reading and 'Lackie' for brain storming with me.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The return of the dead, and what follows.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Life had become dull. London was no longer a battlefield. It was now just streets with cars, sidewalks with people going about their dull lives without giving it much thought.</p><p>It was driving John Watson completely mad.</p><p>Despite the dullness, a lot of things happened to him since the fall of his best friend. The first major thing was he had moved out of Baker Street; too many memories, happy ones at that which made it so painful to stay. This, of course, did not mean that he did not come every so often to visit Mrs. Hudson.</p><p>He also found a job at a clinic; nothing exciting, just very simple medical care. Some days 'simple' was all he was able to handle.</p><p>It had been a particularly long day at the clinic and John was not in any mood for pranks. John had just reached the stairs when there was a knock on the door. He debated for a moment on whether or not he should ignore whoever was knocking and go to bed. But John had discovered years ago the annoying fact that he was too nice to ignore the knock.</p><p>Sighing in frustration at himself, he opened the door.</p><p>"You're surprised to see me." The man at the door said in a strange croaking voice once both men finished appraising the other.</p><p>"Yeah," John was indeed surprised to see him. He had run into the man earlier that day near the clinic. John was not looking where he was going and accidentally bumped into the man causing his collection of old books to go flying to the ground.</p><p>Embarrassed by the act, John knelt down to aid in picking up the books and to apologize. But the man was so upset over the treatment of his books that he snatched the books from John's grasp and with a snarl of contempt turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.</p><p>John did not expect to ever see the graying blond bespectacled man again, yet here he was with the same old books wedged under his right arm.</p><p>"I've developed a bit of a conscience over the past few years," He explained as he walked past John inside. "I wanted to make sure that my gruff manner wasn't taken offensively; I meant no harm by it."</p><p>"No, I understand; it isn't fun having your things dropped," John reassure the man as he tried to discern why he let a complete stranger inside when he realized something. "How did you know where I live?"</p><p>The man smiled. "You pass by the bookshop I frequent on your way to work. The one of the corner of Church Street. Perhaps I can interest you in one of these." He motioned to the books under his arm. John noticed the titles 'British Birds, 'Catullus' and 'The Holy War'. "As an apology for my behavior. It would fill the area on that end table; it looks untidy does it not?"</p><p>John looked over his shoulder to the table near the door where he usually threw his keys. Yes the apartment was untidy, perhaps at times too much for the military man he had been but living with Sherlock had led to him coming to tolerate a certain level of untidiness and now, with his friend gone, he felt he could not live without it.</p><p>When he turned back before him stood Sherlock Holmes.</p><p>Sherlock had already removed the wig and was now taking off the spectacles and placed both on top of the books he already placed at the foot of the steps.</p><p>Sherlock was alive. Alive and standing before him. Alive and looking in decent health. Alive and not smashed against the pavement with blood rapidly spreading around him.</p><p>Alive.</p><p>"John, I –" Sherlock began speaking in his normal voice, but was not able to finish since John landed a right hook to his face.</p><p>Sherlock stumbled back a bit but was able to catch himself on the banister. The two men started at each other. John was in shock and was not quite sure how to feel. He began to pace back and forth not taking his eyes off of the person on the steps; he took in deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating. He was now quite certain that he had actually hit a real person, who was now bleeding a bit from the mouth and not a hallucination. His hand pulsed with pain, so John was certain he actually hit something and not just air.</p><p>Eventually, he stopped pacing. All in all, he knew that there was one thing he wanted to say.</p><p>"Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again!" John choked out; he began to register a mix of anger and relief flooding his system as he looked at his not dead friend.</p><p>"I have no intention of doing so." Sherlock rubbed his cheek. "John, I owe you a thousand apologies for the past three years. I had no idea that you would be so affected."</p><p>What Sherlock did not yet add was how it had effected him so, had many times he himself had yearned for London and John's paper rustling in the background while the smell of scones wafted up the stairs from Mrs. Hudson's kitchen below. How thinking of them had kept him going for so very long.</p><p>Then launched a night long discussion between the two men; a discussion filled with questions, explanations, plans. Before John realized it he was swept up into another adventure with Sherlock solving the recent and tragic murder of Ronald Adair that had happen a few days prior.</p><p>
  <em>-MHSHEH- </em>
</p><p>After a shot, a scuffle, and a bit of shouting, Sherlock said hello to Lestrade.</p><p>"I think this is the point Lestrade where you put the handcuffs on the suspect." Sherlock deadpanned as he stepped away from the groaning crumple figure of Sebastian Moran. "I also might add, had you spent any time working on your aim Detective you may very well have finished what Moriarty started." He carelessly waved over the the wall bearing the damage of the recent fray.</p><p>"You bloody arrogant – "</p><p>"I've got Moran!" Lestrade's Sargent, Isabelle Bordeaux, practically shouted as she stepped past him to cuff Moran. She knew that some reactions were best not verbalized.</p><p>Lestrade, after the initial shock wore off, was just as surprised as John and equally pleased. He was in such a stupor that his new Sergeant had to handcuff and take away Moran while Lestrade threw his questions at Sherlock.</p><p>Despite being glad that Sherlock was alive, Lestrade could not have him consult with any cases at the Yard. There were still a few of Sherlock's old cases that were up for inquiry. Since the Fall, as people had dubbed the event, all of the cases Sherlock consulted on came under review to see if the correct conclusion was arrived. Things were double checked, and then tripled check. To the chagrin of those who greatly disliked Sherlock, each review concluded that the consulting detective was correct.</p><p>During the first year after his return, Sherlock went to several inquiries when his presence was needed for questions. John accompanied Sherlock to the proceedings for support and to make sure he behaved. For the most part Sherlock kept his smartass remarks to a minimum and answered the questions without much fanfare. His answers were short and to the point, one could almost say terse.</p><p>But John watched Sherlock when he was not on stand; he saw what others did not.</p><p>Sherlock seemed nervous and wanted to be somewhere else. But he kept still in his chair, eyes closed and fingers pressed together taking in everything that was said. He only opened his eyes when he was called to the stand and when the proceedings were finished for the day.</p><p>The only thing that Sherlock complained about concerning the Inquires is that it took people three years to learn that he was correct. With this being his only complaint, John was more surprise that he had not insulted anyone or reduced anyone to tears. John often pondered on what Sherlock had said that first evening he came back, that he had learned aspects of human interactions better and wondered if it was true.</p><p>After every inquest Sherlock would quickly leave the court room, with John close behind, and outpaced the reporters hungry for an expose. If a reporter did catch them, Sherlock said nothing; he waited for a cab and ignored the questions thrown at him and even refused to look at them.</p><p>Once back at Baker Street John saw the subtle signs of Sherlock beginning to relaxing.</p><p>"I've never liked testifying." Sherlock once remarked after one inquest. "I've never like being told what I could and could not say." He then picked up his violin and slowly began to play. John wondered how much of that was true.</p><p>Of course Scotland Yard could not stop Sherlock from consulting on private cases. Of which there was no short supply.</p><p>As with before Sherlock was highly particular about which case was worth his time. At first both men were hounded by reporters and paparazzi; but as the months wore on the sensation Sherlock's return and subsequent clearing of all charges laid at his door waned so did the thrill seekers.</p><p>John could not have been happier.</p><p>But that did not stop John from noticing slight changes in the way Sherlock handled things.</p><p>He was coming back from getting the much needed shopping when he heard Sherlock was with a client.</p><p>"What do you mean you can't help?" The desperate client asked shocked.</p><p>"I can't." Sherlock said simply with no malice in his voice. "But I know someone who can."</p><p>John was a bit taken aback when he heard that last phrase from his friend; he almost dropped the shopping because of it. He entered the room with the shopping just as Sherlock was handing the woman a sheet of paper from his notebook.</p><p>The client looked at the paper then back to Sherlock. "Thank you Mr. Holmes."</p><p>John stepped out of the way as the client left. When he heard the front door close he looked carefully at Sherlock.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Since when do you refer potential clients to other people?" John asked before making his way to the kitchen.</p><p>"Dull," Sherlock shrugged before picking up his violin and tuning it. "Someone else would find it interesting."</p><p>"Really?" John looked questionably at Sherlock. But before he could question Sherlock further Mrs. Hudson entered the flat.</p><p>"This came while you were gone, dear." She handed Sherlock a thin largish brown paper package. Sherlock smiled at the landlady as he took the package.</p><p>Mrs. Hudson returned the smile before she left.</p><p>Since Sherlock's return, she was happier than John had seen her in years. She had more easily forgiven Sherlock for his deception, only after she had seen him eat an entire plate of food since who knows when he had last eaten a decent meal. And while she continued to insist she was their landlady and in no way their house keeper, John had come home many nights from the clinic to find her stuffing scones and other sweet treats into Sherlock with plenty left over for him.</p><p>"New York City postmark, no return address." He opened the package and smirked. It was one of those photography books one would buy to decorate a coffee table or one that a person would find in a doctor's office to mindless read while waiting. A note fell out when Sherlock opened the book.</p><p>John read it as he picked it up on the way to his chair: <em>Work well received with demands for more. I hope you don't mind the title. </em></p><p>Instead of a name there was a sketch of what looked like a vine of ivy.</p><p>He handed it to Sherlock. "No name; do you know who it's from?"</p><p>Sherlock handed to book to John as he took the note. John looked at the book as he sat down; it contained pictures of people and sites all over the world from India to America. Sherlock chuckled at the note that had accompanied the book.</p><p>"Who is Vilhelm Sigerson?" John asked looking at the cover of the book. It was entitled The Great Hiatus.</p><p>"Me," Sherlock picked up his violin and inspected the strings. "It was an alias I used while I traveled taking down Moriarty's web."</p><p>"You took these pictures?" John was in disbelief.</p><p>"Is that so surprising?" Sherlock furrowed his brows when he looked over to John.</p><p>"I've seen those pictures you took of Connie Prince's brother! You couldn't focus the camera on anything." John pointed out. He looked at one of the photographs; it was rendered in black and white of an ancient bridge looking over a river that ran through an equally ancient city, the focus of the picture was of a young woman, oblivious to the picture being taken, her focus was on the river. She sat on the railing, rested her back against one of the many columns that lined the stone bridge that had statues perched on top in different dramatic poses with her legs crossed in front of her. John was not much for an art critic, but he would say that it was a good photograph.</p><p>"I had to learn to make my cover credible." Sherlock picked up the bow. "If I ever need to use that alias again the presence of the book makes Sigerson a bit more plausible."</p><p>"I think this is the most you've ever talked about your time away." John remarked quietly. "You've been back about . . . what, ten months, and you haven't said much about it."</p><p>John could count the times that Sherlock looked lost for words on one hand and this was one instant. Sherlock was posed to play on the violin but the bow stayed just above the strings.</p><p>"Sherlock?"</p><p>"A lot happened," Sherlock remarked briskly deciding against playing. He put down the instrument and sat in his chair. "I will tell you John about those three years, all about them, but not just yet."</p><p>The sincerity in Sherlock's voice surprised John so he dropped the subject for another time.</p><p>Of all the things that surprised John the most with Sherlock's return was how pleasant he was acting towards Mycroft. A few months after Sherlock's return, John began to notice that Mycroft often visited Baker Street and only came when John was not there.</p><p>"After what he did to you, how can you stand to be in the same room as him?" John demanded after he walked in on the tail end of a conversation the brothers were having.</p><p>The brothers stopped abruptly speaking when they realized they had an audience. They bid each other a good day before Mycroft grabbed his things and left. John barely looked at Mycroft and as soon as the older Holmes left John glared at Sherlock.</p><p>"We talked." Sherlock said defensively and cryptically. "And now we have a new understanding."</p><p>"What? Not to reveal your life story to any more criminal masterminds?" John could not understand how a simple talk could solve the deep seeded conflicts the Holmes brothers claimed to have with each other. "He sold you out Sherlock."</p><p>"Yes, I know!" Sherlock almost snapped. He understood John's perspective; he was unknowing of many things that had transpired between the brothers thus Sherlock could not accuse him of being unreasonable. He also knew it went against every fiber of John's loyal nature what Mycroft had done. Sherlock may have been able to forgive Mycroft for the actions he took when his hand was forced, yet he wondered if John would ever be able to even just talk with his brother. "We are working to make sure that never happens again. It's best for all of us."</p><p>"What did you talk about?" John asked wanting to better understand. He may not like Mycroft being around but he could at least try to respect the brothers' efforts. Less international incidents that way.</p><p>"We – " Sherlock's phone rang. He debated whether or not to answer inside his head and decided. "Yes . . . What do you mean paperwork? Of course I want to consult for the Police. . . Alright, I'll come later today. Good, then."</p><p>"Was that Greg?" John asked when Sherlock ended the call.</p><p>Sherlock nodded. "Apparently the new Chief Superintendent is willing to let me consult as long as I complete a ridiculous amount of paper work."</p><p>"It's a step forward." John pointed out crossing his arm; he was on the defensive, waiting for the subsequent tantrum that would have occurred before the Fall.</p><p>"Yes," Sherlock agreed. "Yes it is."</p><p>Picking up his bow, he turned to the window and began to play. In his wake, John stood shocked at the turn about in Sherlock, first pleasant to Mycroft and then agreeable in the face of paperwork for the police. Some things most definitely had changed.</p><p>Of course there were things that had not changed at all with Sherlock.</p><p>A bored Sherlock was still a very dangerous one.</p><p>John still remembered walking in one day finding his friend still in his pajamas and robe shooting madly at the wall. The eerie yellow smile was still there, on the wall as a tribute to that one episode.</p><p>Right now it was the calm before the storm.</p><p>A thick fog had descended upon London for several days leading to a pause in cases for Sherlock and John, the first since Sherlock's return a year ago.</p><p>John was contented to sit and read the newspaper to pass the time in the lull of cases. But Sherlock, on the first day, had taken to cross referencing every book that was in the flat, including the ones owned by Mrs. Hudson; the second day he spent reading over Medieval music, John thought he heard at one point Sherlock humming a few bars; but by the third day Sherlock restlessly paced the room, biting his nails, tapping the furniture – anything and everything to use the suppressed energy within him.</p><p>Thus far John was doing a good job of ignoring Sherlock's chafing against inactivity, but then John had begun to wonder how much longer the poor floor could take the pacing.</p><p>"Anything John?" Sherlock asked fanatically waving at the newspaper.</p><p>Knowing that Sherlock would not be interested in a revolution in some foreign country or a change in the stock market, John shook his head.</p><p>"The criminal element has certainly become a dull fellow in my absence." Sherlock complained looking out the window. "Just look! See how the figures loom up, are dimly seen, and then blend once more into the cloud-bank. The thief or the murderer could roam London on such a day as the tiger does the jungle, unseen until he pounces, and then evident only to his victim."</p><p>"There are a few petty thefts reported," John offered. John's remarked earned him a glare from Sherlock as he moved away from the window.</p><p>"No, this somber stage is worthy of something better than that." Sherlock collapsed dramatically into his chair with an equally dramatically sigh. "It is very fortunate for the community that I am not actually a criminal. Argh! Anything to break this dead monotony!"</p><p>John could only smile at his friend's antics; he found them to be a comforting reminder that Sherlock was back from the dead.</p><p>"Maybe Lestrade could finally call with something interesting." Sherlock mumbled to himself lightly banging his head on the back of the chair.</p><p>In another part of town a woman was walking carefully in the fog and was not smiling. She did not like the sensation of being encased in fog isolating her from the rest of the world. Her only connection to the world was the sounds of the city and the few people, like her, who dared to take on the fog. She could hear about three, maybe four people around her, hidden by the thick cloud. One of which was mirroring her movements.</p><p>Someone was following her. Every step she took her pursuer copied as if to hide his own steps by the sounds of her own. She did not like it.</p><p>Pausing for a moment to gain her bearings she took a turn to shake off her pursuer.</p><p>An uneasy feeling crept over her as she made a turn only to realize her move ended her in a dead end ally, just what her pursuer wanted. Seeing little else she could do, she dropped her handbag and turned just as her pursuer reached for her.</p><p>As with any big city there are loud noises that are hard decipher, so the attitude of apathy develops simply because there are too many noises to care about every single one of them. That said, people heard scuffling, thuds, a few bins being tossed over and finally the screech of some feral cat. Everyone associated the noises to the cat chasing something blindly in the fog, so certain were they that no one pauses to consider they might have heard the muffled yells of the woman or a car door slamming shut.</p><p>No, a cat was an easier and far less emotional answer for the noises in the alleyway. People would have continued blaming the cat until a body was discovered in the alleyway next to the knocked over bins. A large man with a shaved head and tattoos peaking out from his jacket collar and sleeves.</p><p>His face was not much to look at; especially considering that half of it was blown off by the executioner style gunshot wound from the back of the head.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Changes, Transfers and Promotions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>If the first chapter was to show what happened with Sherlock and John, this chapter shows what happened to Lestrade.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and followed.</p><p>A big thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for helping me making sure the characters stay in-character, and to 'lackie' for brain storming with me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Things change; they always do.</p><p>Lestrade only had to reflex over his own life to know that saying was true. He sighed as he looked over his current case files and his notes.</p><p>After a few moments, he looked up wearily from the piles of paperwork through the window to his Sergeant, Isabelle Bordeaux, who was working diligently at her desk.</p><p>She started working under Lestrade about two years ago when Sally Donovan and he could no longer work efficiently together. It started shortly after the meeting with Ivy Meshle with the first evidence of Sherlock's framing. Donovan transferred to work with a different DI and Lestrade did not stop her. He understood her reasons and quite frankly she was getting under his nerves with her constant questioning of his methods.</p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p>No one quite understood how or why Lestrade was able to keep his position. Of course he was given lesser cases but that seemed to be his only punishment. Donovan continued to work with Lestrade if only because she thought that he would loose his job over the whole Freak fiasco and she felt pity for him. But Lestrade stayed and continued working.</p>
  <p>At first the disagreements were minor, but as the months past the arguments became unbearable to the point that very few were willing to work with the both of them. If they were separate there was no problem. It did not surprise Lestrade when Donovan handed him the transfer papers.</p>
  <p>"Good luck," Was all Lestrade said as Donovan left his office. Donovan said nothing but closed the door with a little more force than what was necessary.</p>
  <p>That is when Isabelle entered the scene. She was newly promoted to the position of Sergeant and very willing to prove herself that she should not be judge solely on her youth and inexperience. She was rather young to be a Sergeant, but her hard work and success in the field proved that she was more than capable. Her reddish brown hair was kept in a French braid tucked in on itself, but a few wisps of hair always fell out and framed her face. Unlike most people in London she had a slight tan to her complexion despite spending most of her time indoors pouring over reports and evidence.</p>
  <p>The only thing that really surprised Lestrade about Isabelle was when he found out that she was from New Orleans. He simply did not expect it, though of course he had never asked.</p>
  <p>"Mama is English, Papa was Cajun." She explained after he found her one day angerly grumbling at a malfunctioning copier, that was truly on its last leg, in strangely accented French. She stopped short of kicking the machine when she saw Lestrade standing in the doorway with his mouth hanging open in shock and a file in hand. "After papa died we moved to England to live with mama's family."</p>
  <p>"How old were you?" Lestrade asked when he handed her a cup of coffee. They both went to his office to share a cup of bad cop coffee as Isabelle told her tale instead of standing in the copier room after her outburst. Lestrade wanted to know about his Sergeant, her strengths and weaknesses for future reference as they worked together; he did not want to alienate her as what happen with Donovan.</p>
  <p>"Seven," She gingerly sipped the coffee and slightly grimaced at the taste. "But every summer I would visit my grandparents and they were quite insistent that I wouldn't lose of any of my Cajun heritage; hence my odd accent which has become the brunt of so many jokes here."</p>
  <p>"You're odd accent?" Lestrade looked credulously over his cup.</p>
  <p>Isabelle smiled. "When I'm not angry I can give a pretty convincing native-born English accent, but sometimes my Creole does slip though. I think most of the jokes stem from the fact people don't realize that I don't speak continental French, I speak Louisiana French."</p>
  <p>"And the copier?" He was not really upset over her behavior; the copier was getting on everyone's nerves. He was just simply surprised but the outburst; she had usually been very quiet, only speaking when needed.</p>
  <p>"In my defense it had it coming," She smirked behind her coffee cup when she was the glint of amusement in her boss' eye. "But for the future I will try not to get frustrated with inanimate objects again."</p>
  <p>"Just as long as you don't shoot them." They both shared a laugh.</p>
  <p>"That might be a bit more difficult." She smiled.</p>
  <p>It was not long after that talk that Isabelle essentially became his right hand in matters and became quite indispensable to him. It also helped that when she took charge of any situation her manner broke no denial. In the months after the copier insistent, Lestrade knew that she would make a great detective; she was smart, observant and hard working. There soon was a trust that developed between them that never existed between Lestrade and Donovan.</p>
  <p>Lestrade would see Ivy Meshle from time to time whenever he was out working on a case. She would nervously wave before she was off doing whatever it was her boss, Ragostin, needed her to do. He wished she would stay put long enough for him to give a proper thank you for her work in bringing in the evidence clearing Sherlock's name. But as it was she barely was there for their shared hand wave.</p>
  <p>When Sherlock returned from the dead it was revealed without a doubt the truth behind Richard Brook, or as he was actually known, James Moriarty, was that he was actually a criminal mastermind. Lestrade was vindicated for his support and use of Sherlock over the years.</p>
  <p>Isabelle was one of few people in the force where the groaning and gnashing of teeth did not originate from.</p>
  <p>"So he was dead and now he isn't." She remarked after they processed Moran. She found Lestrade sitting in his office. Guessing at the possible state of her boss she came armed with a cup of tea. "Dear me, Mr. Holmes is just full of surprises, isn't he?"</p>
  <p>"This is just the first of many," Lestrade said still in shock. His mind was racing with the possibilities of what might happen because of Sherlock's return. He finally looked down at his hand and realized he was holding a cup of tea. He looked to his Sergeant who only smiled and shrugged.</p>
  <p>"At least things won't be boring." She smiled trying to reassure him. "I think it will be better than last time."</p>
  <p>"Why do you say that?" Lestrade looked at her. A few months prior he told her everything about Sherlock's fall from grace; he included everything from Donovan approaching him with her suspicions to him calling John Watson to warn him of the impending arrest of Sherlock. He had grown to trust her; she had earned that trust.</p>
  <p>She shrugged. "People make mistakes, hopefully they learn from them."</p>
  <p>It was now about year since Sherlock's return and Isabelle was not scared away by him from his reputations, despite the attempts of her coworkers.</p>
  <p>It might have also helped that Sherlock had not worked any case with the Metropolitan Police since his return keeping his contact with Isabelle minimal.</p>
  <p>She did get unnerved one random day when she received a text from him with a few clues for Lestrade on a particular difficult case; nothing big, just something to push the investigation in the right direction.</p>
  <p>She demanded to know if Lestrade had given her number to Sherlock as she held up her mobile with the unexpected text on the screen. He did his best to explain about Sherlock's texting habit without sounding too annoyed at the consulting detective. He knew that it would be implausible to promise his Sergeant that it would not happen again. But, as it turned out, Isabelle was more annoyed at the fact that Sherlock had not bothered to text 'Hello' before bombarding her with tips.</p>
  <p>"He has to buy me a cup of coffee first before he can text me." Isabelle said with exasperation that Lestrade could not tell was real or not before returning to her desk.</p>
  <p>Small favors, Lestrade thought. Perhaps if Sherlock had done acts of consideration before - Lestrade stopped that train of thought. The past was the past, it could not be changed. He did hope that the past would not repeat itself.</p>
  <p>"Hey boss." Isabelle stuck her head in Lestrade's office. "You've been summoned."</p>
  <p>"Summoned by whom?" Lestrade nearly wanted to bang his head against his desk in frustration at the interruption. But he refrained from doing so firstly because it was a bit childish and secondly it was an unexpected, but welcomed, interruption from the sheer amount paper work that he had to deal with.</p>
  <p>"Chief Superintendent Lucas." She said. Lestrade sat straighter at her answer.</p>
  <p>"Any mention of what he wanted?"</p>
  <p>Isabelle shook her head. "Not directly, but with the way the rumor mill is turning at this station and the whispers out of earshot, I would hazard a guess that it has something to do with Holmes."</p>
  <p>"With my luck Sherlock tried to butt in on a crime scene." Lestrade sighed as he stood. "Have you gotten the ballistic report yet?"</p>
  <p>"Not yet," Isabelle stepped out of the way and Lestrade walked past. "I was about to go down to see where tech is with that. Anything else, boss?"</p>
  <p>"Go over the crime scene photos, especially the ones of the hallway; there's something I think we're missing." Lestrade said walking down the hall with Isabelle in tow as he thought over the most recent murder case he was given.</p>
  <p>"Got it." Isabelle hurried back to her desk and picked up her phone.</p>
  <p>Lestrade had only met Chief Superintendent Michael Lucas once when he came into the position a few months prior. Since Sherlock was cleared of all accusations it looked bad on the higher ups in Scotland Yard to so blatantly accuse an innocent man of such a horrible crime. Many took the option of an earlier retirement to avoid any further embarrassment.</p>
  <p>One of those newly opened positions was filled by Lucas. He transferred in from outside London so he had no taint of the falsely accusing scandal on his name. It also helped that before his promotion to Superintendent he was a very successful detective with a high case closure rate.</p>
  <p>Lestrade's impression of Lucas was that he was hard as nails and had a very dry sense of humor. But he was skilled in public relation which the police desperately needed at the time.</p>
  <p>Lestrade was at one of the many press conferences that were held as demands for more through investigations into police procedures multiplied. He sat in the back to listen what the new Chief Superintendent would say and hoped that no one would recognize him. Lucas calmly sat through the questions and the thinly veiled insults.</p>
  <p>"It is certainly a mess," Lucas stated. He sat up in his chair to lean closer to the microphone. "But the error here lies not totally on police protocols but in the fact that the police are human. We all try to do what is best but mistakes are made because we are not infallible. The badge doesn't stop mistakes; it just makes us more responsible of them. This all started with a strong dislike for a particular man and the presence of planted evidence. I can guarantee that the trail of evidence and the conclusions from evidence gathered will be better handled. I can't guarantee my police officers not to act human – I wouldn't want them not to be human and neither should you."</p>
  <p>Lestrade had been impressed by the man since then. Lucas had inherited a mess from his predecessors but was handling it rather well.</p>
  <p>Lestrade arrived at Lucas' office and sighed. He had learned early in his career to hope for the best but never expect it; there was less disappointments that way. He straightened his jacket out of habit and knocked.</p>
  <p>"It's open." Lucas called.</p>
  <p>Lestrade found Lucas at his desk poring over reports. The office itself looked more like a storage room than an office due to all the boxes overtaking it. Only the window and a few pictures of what Lestrade guessed to be his family on the wall did Lucas keep the room from being completely storage.</p>
  <p>"Unless you're Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, please go." Lucas was at his desk leaning over it with a hand to his forehead supporting it as he read one of the many reports on his desk, writing in a nearby notepad when needed. He did not look up when he spoke and did not pause in his writing. "I have too many badly written reports to go through."</p>
  <p>"I'm DI Gregory Lestrade." He said closing the door behind him.</p>
  <p>Lucas looked up and nodded, waving the detective to come further into the room. "Good, I actually need a break from these reports. Honestly, does anyone teach the skill of writing anymore?"</p>
  <p>Lestrade just looked at Lucas stunned; it was not because he was struck dumb, it was just he was not sure how he should answer.</p>
  <p>"You can relax, Detective." Lucas removed his reading glasses. "You're not here to be reprimanded." He lightly tossed his glasses on his desk and leaned back in his chair.</p>
  <p>"Then why am I here, sir?"</p>
  <p>"I want to hear about Sherlock Holmes," Lucas explained and motioned for Lestrade to take a seat in the only chair that did not have a box on it. "I want to hear about him from a source that isn't coated in hatred, bias, loathing or even extreme annoyance. I want a completely objective opinion on which I can make a carefully thought out decision."</p>
  <p>"Why do you think I'm that source?" Lestrade was trying to gauge what sort of tactic Lucas was employing; the Chief Superintendent was proving a difficult man to read.</p>
  <p>"In this mountain of reports is one that you wrote about eight years ago where you first mention Sherlock Holmes," Lucas waved his hand to the boxes around the office. "You were the first to bring him in as a consultant. Why?"</p>
  <p>"Is this a test, sir?" Lestrade asked as he sat. He wanted to be annoyed that his last question was not really answered, but found it difficult to do so. From what Lestrade had seen and heard of Lucas was that he was not a career-minded man, but more focus on getting actually police work done as best as possible. Lestrade could respect that.</p>
  <p>Lucas chuckled and aimlessly waved his hand in the air. "When is life not a test?"</p>
  <p>Lestrade thought for a moment. "Sherlock Holmes is one of the most brilliant minds I have ever come across. Give him five minutes on a crime scene he will see things that most wouldn't. He's able to make conclusions just by looking; and it's later confirmed by forensics. But above all else you had to resist the urge to punch him in the face."</p>
  <p>"Did you? Punch him, I mean."</p>
  <p>"Always tempted, but never acted on it. Some days he was more difficult than others."</p>
  <p>"But you put that aside because he's useful."</p>
  <p>"As I've said, he's brilliant."</p>
  <p>"I take it he doesn't play well with others."</p>
  <p>"It depends on who the 'others' are sir."</p>
  <p>"Oh,"</p>
  <p>"He is not the most socially aware individual on the planet. But his friend, John Watson helps him in that area."</p>
  <p>"Isn't he the one that did that blog about the cases Holmes worked on?"</p>
  <p>"Yes sir."</p>
  <p>"Is he a good man?"</p>
  <p>"I trust him."</p>
  <p>"I see." Lucas thought over Lestrade's words then nodded. "Alright then." Lucas opened the top drawer of his desk, pulled out a file and held it out to Lestrade. "Have your consultant fill these out then he can start working with us again."</p>
  <p>Lestrade gaped at the file. "Sir?"</p>
  <p>"I would like to makes something very clear, Lestrade." Lucas explained placing the file on the edge of his desk within Lestrade's reach. Lestrade was afraid that he would lose sight of it amongst the other files on the desk if he took his eyes off of it, but he forced himself to look at the Chief Superintendent. "I am giving you my expressed permission to use whatever resources you find to help you solve cases. I have no problem with consultants Lestrade if they greatly aid in the investigations. Everyone in the police force is a tool; I like to keep my toolbox well stocked of useful tools. If Mr. Holmes is beneficial to an investigation I would be remiss if I did not allow his services, albeit his annoying quarks. If having him consult for us means that we find the perpetrator faster and more efficiently, then I damn well better have him consult. Even if he's an arrogant sod.</p>
  <p>"My main requirement is that whenever he is involved with a case his name has to be in the report. There is other regulations he has to follow that I have listed in there." Lucas continued pointing to the file. "If Mr. Holmes wants to be anonymous then he can use the tip line and not show his face at a crime scene. Am I clear?"</p>
  <p>"Completely sir." Lestrade nodded. He took the file from Lucas' desk and briefly skimmed it. It was paperwork for outside consultants, stating regulations and rules for interaction with the police and handling of evidence, liability dealing with injuries obtain on the job and so forth. A smile tugged at Lestrade's lips thinking over Sherlock's reaction to the new 'restrictions'.</p>
  <p>"Do keep me inform of everything," Lucas replaced his glasses on his face. "I look forward to working with you, Lestrade."</p>
  <p>-MHSHEH-</p>
  <p>"Hey boss," Isabelle smiled when she saw Lestrade returning from Lucas' office. She was in the midst of looking over the crime scene photos, pinning them to the partition walls, and comparing them to the ballistic report she finally was able to obtain. "I see you've survived to fight crime another day."</p>
  <p>Lestrade nodded but his expression was part confusion, part shock and part pleasant surprise. "He's given the OK for Sherlock to consult."</p>
  <p>Isabelle gave a low whistle of surprise and her eyes widen. "I foresee the very loud anguish cries of many when word of this gets out. When can he start?"</p>
  <p>"As soon as he fills out this paperwork." Lestrade held up the file for Isabelle to see. "He has to be official and his involvement has to be noted in the reports."</p>
  <p>She nodded. "That's right; he liked to be anonymous in a lot of the cases he worked. Do you want me to call him?"</p>
  <p>"No, I'll do it." Lestrade already has his mobile out ready to dial as he headed to his office.</p>
  <p>Isabelle smiled as she returned to the pictures pinned up all around her. Despite the grisly view before her she could not help but feel good. She was glad that Lestrade was in a good mood and even notice a slight up beat in his step.</p>
  <p>"It's gonna be very not dull here." She smirked as she circled in red a new possible clue in one picture.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I feel like I have some explaining to do. Here goes -</p><p>I did not like the fourth season/series of Sherlock. I tried, I really did, but in the end it made me not like the show. All that build up for nothing. I felt like there were glaring plot holes in all the episodes. I really didn't like what they did with Mary. Mycroft for being so smart did some really dumb things. Don't get me started on Eurus!</p><p>All in all, the fourth season/series turned me off the show and its fandom. It also killed my muse for this story. That and my flashdrive with all my research and notes got fried along with an old computer (that wasn't a good day).</p><p>After so many years of nothing, a spark lit up in my mind as I reread the original Sherlock Holmes stories and the Enola Holmes mysteries. I will finish this story!</p><p>Please leave a review and tell me what you think. Reviews are the only way I get paid.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Crime Scene the First</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sherlock's first case along side the Police. An old friend shows up who is both illuminating and shocking.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for helping me with this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was Sherlock's first proper investigation with New Scotland Yard since his return. He was positively giddy.</p><p>From Lestrade's description over the phone it promised to be one of substance; at least that was what Sherlock was telling John. If it was anyone else other than Sherlock getting excited over a murder John would have been worried. But if anyone was to ask John would freely admit that he was happy to see his friend back in his game. It had been too long for both of them.</p><p>Riding in the cab John had to hold back a whistle. Knightsbridge was not a section of the great city of London that made an attempt to hide the wealth that resided there. Sherlock took no notice of their surroundings as he was looking up something on his phone.</p><p>Sherlock dashed out of the cab leaving John to foot the bill. John caught up with Sherlock just before they reached the tape barrier of the crime scene. He thought about the running tab of all the cabs Sherlock forced him to pay and wondered how he was going to get his flatmate to pay him back.</p><p>"Just try to get along with everyone." John begged as they approached, continuing their conversation from the cab. "Even if they're idiots." He added quickly for good measure when Sherlock opened his mouth.</p><p>"Would you feel better if I read from cue cards?" Sherlock asked humorlessly.</p><p>"I just want you to be careful." John said. He understood Sherlock's frustration, and Sherlock, in turn, understood John's concern. But that did not stop either man getting a little annoyed with the other.</p><p>"You must be Sherlock Holmes."</p><p>Both men looked over and on the other side of the yellow police tape was Sergeant Bordeaux, who waited for them with her arms crossed and a smile. John had met her a few times prior; she was pleasant to John with none of the prejudices towards him for his association with Sherlock that the rest of Scotland Yard had.</p><p>"Lestrade's description of you is spot on." She held out her hand over the tape. "Isabelle Bordeaux, – "</p><p>"Lestrade's Sergeant." Sherlock cut in, shaking her hand.</p><p>She closed her mouth, taken aback by the interruption, but smiled. "Indeed I am. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person and it's good to see you again Dr. Watson." She added to John before lifting up the tape. "Body's on the lower ground floor, right down the stairs. And just to let you know, it's not pleasant."</p><p>"Cajun." Sherlock said as he stepped under the tape.</p><p>John inwardly groaned; he now just hoped that nothing too offensive left Sherlock's mouth.</p><p>"Sorry?" Her smile did not falter; it just now looked a bit confused.</p><p>"Your r's," Sherlock said as way of explanation. When he saw no note of understanding he sighed, turned his sights to Isabelle and launch into a fuller description. "You're very comfortable speaking a second language, probably grew up in a bilingual household. Judging by how you form your words I would say French, but certainly not continental French. No, the other side of the Atlantic is more likely. Your h's excludes Canadian French, but has a strong influence, leaving – "</p><p>"The Bayou." Isabelle nodded, almost laughing. "Yes, actually," Isabelle sounded impress as John also stepped under the tape. "But only – "</p><p>"Half." Sherlock interrupted again. "On your father's side."</p><p>Isabelle looked a bit dumbstruck with her mouth slightly open. She looked to John than back to Sherlock.</p><p>"Oh!" She suddenly exclaimed. "I get it. This is you showing off, right? Lestrade warned me about that. So, is the bit where I'm supposed to get annoyed or in awe of your skills?"</p><p>"What else has Lestrade told you?" Sherlock choose to ignore the 'showing off' remark.</p><p>"You are annoying, but damn brilliant." She tilted her head in thought. "But I find most people that are certifiable geniuses are annoying to some degree, so nothing new. Also, you owe me coffee for all those unsolicited texts. How did you even get my number?"</p><p>Sherlock just smirked at her. He was not going to reveal his secrets to her. Seeing his determination Isabelle sighed dramatically.</p><p>"Fine," She conceded. "Lestrade's inside waiting."</p><p>She shooed them away towards the house and went back to crowd control, not that there many people there. Altogether John found it a much more pleasant entrance than when he had been forced to deal with Sgt. Donovan at the tape of every crime scene.</p><p>Entering the two men found themselves in a large space that doubled as a sitting room and further back in an alcove as a reading nook. There was an officer already there taking pictures of the room who directed them to the stairs leasing to the lower ground floor directly in front of the front door.</p><p>"In here." Lestrade called out when he heard them land on the last step. Sherlock and John followed the voice to the home office, Sherlock's eyes darting back and forth as he took in the surroundings.</p><p>The office had one wall to the left of the door covered with architectural sketches with an artist table in front of it that had more sketches scattered about. The next wall over was a book case filled to the brim with reference books, papers, and small models. Then the wall right of the door had bright colored pictures of buildings ranging from skyscrapers to country cottages. In the middle of all of this was the body of a woman. She was dressed in a business causal khaki trousers and pastel pink blouse.</p><p>The way the body was sprawled on the floor looked like an uncomfortable position as though she crumpled to the ground. The clothes were ripped and bloodied and the blood had dried causing various shades of red and brown. There was also quite a bit of dried blood matted to the body.</p><p>Sherlock did not immediately jump to the body; instead, he went to the book case and looked back to the door.</p><p>"Notice something?" Lestrade asked.</p><p>"Odd, just odd." Sherlock mumbled not really as an answer for Lestrade, but the Detective Inspector took it as one. Sherlock finished with whatever he was looking at and hunched over the body. "This was done over the course of several days." He pointed to the injuries on the upper left arm. "There are already signs of cicatrisation forming. She was bound by handcuffs behind her back."</p><p>"Of what forming?" Lestrade asked.</p><p>"Scars." John explained</p><p>Sherlock motioned for John to take a closer look at the lower back; the shirt was twisted about the torso allowing a good view of what Sherlock wanted him to see without disturbing the body. Beneath the cuts and matted blood John could make out a bruise. It was an oddly shaped bruise about five centimeters long, rectangular with evenly spaced horizontal lines; John would liken the shape to a ladder.</p><p>"She fell on her back while cuffed." John ventured.</p><p>Sherlock nodded. "You also won't find any immediate connection between the victim and the owners. This was just a body dump."</p><p>"According to the neighbors the owners are away on a holiday." Lestrade referenced his notes. "We're still trying to get in contact with them."</p><p>"So what's odd?" John asked.</p><p>"The fact the body's even here." Sherlock explained standing. "This is a rather high traffic neighborhood, young families milling about; a bit difficult to get rid of a body with the high likelihood of someone taking notice. It's not a simple body dump. This was plan down to the slightest detail. I also do not believe that this was done to implicate the owners. Look around; nothing's disturbed, or it's made to look as such. Except for this." Sherlock walked back to the bookcase. He point to a framed picture of a family. "The dust, a week's worth, is unsettled around here. It was moved by the person to put the body here."</p><p>"But, why?" Lestrade asked.</p><p>"It's a message." Sherlock looked intently at the picture, taking in everything he saw.</p><p>Before anyone could say anything else, John's phone went off. He quickly grabbed it and saw that it was Mary calling and he suddenly remembered that he had been expecting her call.</p><p>"Excuse me," John mumbled quickly and he dashed outside hoping that he did not forget anything else.</p><p>Sherlock did not say anything as John left; it was just one of the many things that had changed in his absence. John's life has other parties involved, and Sherlock was not going to hold it against his flatmate. He had already put John through enough.</p><p>Sherlock would never admit it but he was completely relieved when John welcomed him back into his life with so little anger. Granted, he did deserve that hit to the face; it was a fair price that Sherlock was willing to pay for John.</p><p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p><p>It was a good phone call and one that John needed. A smile lingered on his face as he ended the call from Mary.</p><p>"Can you tell me if Sherlock Holmes is working this crime scene?" A woman appeared at John's side, an American judging by the accent. She was scanning the scene looking at everyone on the other side of the police tape.</p><p>John did a double take on the woman. She was what one would describe as . . . simply put, she was gorgeous. Dark hair, fair skin and green eyes; she wore a dress suit under her coat that one of John's previous girlfriends would have gushed about and saved for a year to get just the blouse or even just a button from the blouse. Everything about her screamed fashion and elegance.</p><p>John would have been tempted to ask for her number if he was not already seeing someone.</p><p>"It's an ongoing investigation . . ."</p><p>"I'm not a reporter, sir." She politely interrupted him, even though he trailed off, with a smile. It was a reassuring smile; one that a person would give to convey understanding. What she understood was unclear. "I'm not looking for a scoop. I'm just looking for Sherlock to give him a message."</p><p>With the way that Sherlock worked, John did not think he would enjoy an interruption from . . . whoever this woman was.</p><p>"I can give him the message." John instantly regretted the offer as the woman gave him an incredulous look.</p><p>"No offense doll, but how do I even know you'll pass it along?" She crossed her arms and leaned her weight to one foot. With her highly fashionable clothes, the pose looked like it belonged on some high-end fashion magazine. "Besides it's personal."</p><p>"What 'personal' message could you give to Sherlock?" He asked, genuinely confused. He was certain that this woman was not a client. He worked with Sherlock with all of his cases since his return and he was quite sure that he would have recognized her striking face.</p><p>Something must have clicked in the woman's head because a huge grin broke out on face as she nearly squealed in delight.</p><p>"You must be John!" She exclaimed joyfully like as though meeting a friend one had not seen in ages. She held out her hand. "I can't tell you how happy I am to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you. I'm Tekla, I'm friends with Sherlock."</p><p>John went through the motion of the handshake with his mouth hanging in surprise. Forgotten words now drifted into John's mind from his memories.</p><p><em>"I don't have friends."</em> Sherlock had once insisted while trying to apologize to him.</p><p>Another aspect of Sherlock that was different.</p><p>"I hope I didn't break a fuse up there." Tekla added looking closely at John when she released his hand.</p><p>John closed his mouth. "Sorry, I'm just . . . I'm just not use to hearing people willingly describe themselves as friends with Sherlock."</p><p>Tekla held back a snort; with anyone else the act would have been comical, but she pulled it off without losing the sophistication that oozed out of her. "That doesn't surprise me. I worked with him on and off over the past three years. We would take bets on how fast he would annoy the Hell out of someone."</p><p>"We?"</p><p>"My friends and I; we all worked with him. It was worth it just to see his face get all scrunched up as he scowled at us. That was probably when we heard the most about you."</p><p>John coughed a bit uncomfortably. "Really?"</p><p>"Really," Tekla smiled fondly. "I thought you would have known. Kept saying how you would never subject him to such treatment. It wasn't hard to see how much he missed you."</p><p>John felt a smile forming on his face, it was good to know that he had been missed by Sherlock as much as he had missed him, but it was stopped when he saw Donovan and Anderson talking behind Tekla. They were both wearing scowls on their face in discontent. He knew it was because Sherlock was on the scene. They were not saying pleasant things in regard to Sherlock's person.</p><p>Despite all the accusations dropped and Sherlock proven an innocent man, Donovan and Anderson still had many unkind things to say about Sherlock. Neither of them liked to see the consultant working with the police again. It was more of embarrassment to them that made them so sour towards Sherlock.</p><p>Seeing the change in John's face, Tekla turned around to see what caused it. "Who are they?" She asked when she turned back to John.</p><p>"No one important." John bit out. John really wanted to go over and demand to know why Donovan was even there. There was no reason for her to even be present, this was Lestrade's case and she was working with a different DI. Barton, or something of the like, but John was not too concern with remembering names at the moment. Sherlock did not need them here on his first crime scene back and John just wanted them to go away.</p><p>"If they weren't important they wouldn't make you react like that." She pointed out. Tekla quickly looked over John's expression and became slightly concern. She listened to what the two were saying; her eyebrows lifted with mild surprise at what they were saying and understood John's reaction. "If I ever get murdered in your country I do not want those two investigating my death." Tekla pointed over her shoulder to the two offenders.</p><p>It was not long before Sherlock stepped outside, looking up something on his phone. When Tekla noticed him, a grin broke out on her face that John could only describe as puckish.</p><p>"Excuse me a moment." She handed John her black clutch and gave him a wink. With a chuckle that matched the grin she defiantly crossed under the police tape to Sherlock who was standing close by. She made sure that she caught the attention of Donovan and Anderson as she sauntered by. When Sherlock saw her, he looked slightly annoyed, but not surprised, by her presence.</p><p>"I'm working." He stated flatly, pocketing his phone. </p><p>"Is that what you call it; I thought you were just bored and decided to annoy the neighbors." Tekla shrugged taking a step closer to the detective and spoke softer but still loud enough that others nearby could still hear. "I just wanted to say thanks . . . for last night."</p><p>That caught the full attention of Donovan and Anderson, who suddenly became mute; along with a few other people nearby, but those people thought it best to continue their work. Some, especially those who had worked with the police before Sherlock faked his death, were surprised to see a brightly smiling woman so willingly stand close to Sherlock.</p><p>Sherlock looked curiously at Tekla as she ran a finger over the lapel of his coat. "What are you -?"</p><p>His words were cut off by Tekla grabbing both his coat lapels and pulled him down into a, surprisingly, intense kiss. The entire crime scene came to a halt with several items slipping forgotten from loose grips. Sherlock did not know what do; his arms were between pushing her off and hanging at his side, and his eyes stayed open with surprise written all over them. Tekla released him from the kiss looking more mischievous than before and quite pleased with herself.</p><p>"I had a lot a fun," Tekla added with a glint in her eye that would have made any man, other than Sherlock, agree to anything she said. "I'll see ya later." She smoothed down the lapels with extra care.</p><p>There seemed to be an extra spring in her step as she walked away from the stunned crime scene. "It was great to finally meet you John." She added brightly treating the whole situation rather mundanely and ordinarily. The cheeky wink as she passed told John otherwise.</p><p>"Good to meet you too," John's brain was not able to come up with any other response. Tekla smile as she grabbed her clutch from him and retrieved a small mirror to make sure nothing need to be touched up on her face. After a quick reapplication of lipstick she gave another wink to John and saluted with her clutch to Donovan and Anderson as she walked passed. She soon disappeared around a corner and the crime scene was still stunned.</p><p>"Did the Freak just get -" Donovan started but was too shocked to finish.</p><p>"I suddenly feel off . . ." Anderson did look unsteady.</p><p>"Alright!" Lestrade's voice cut through everyone's shock. When he scanned the scene he noticed Donovan next to Anderson. Heaven only knew what those two were up to. He felt rather please at the aghast looks on each of their faces and made a mental note to find out what Donovan wanted later. "Back to work."</p><p>"Care to share?" Isabelle asked when she, Lestrade and John converged on Sherlock. She looked more amused than shocked and seemed to enjoy everyone's surprise.</p><p>"Who was that?" John could not help but ask. It was the question on everyone's minds.</p><p>"That was Tekla," Sherlock took out a handkerchief to wipe off the bit of lipstick that had smeared on his lips. He did it with more force than needed as though he was trying to wipe off the kiss itself. "She works as an art appraiser from time to time. She assisted me in certain cases taking down Moriarty's organization that dealt with art forgery."</p><p>"She's your girlfriend." John wanted to know. Everyone wanted to know.</p><p>"Tekla is <em>certainly</em> not my girlfriend." Sherlock said exasperated with one final wipe at his lips and returned the handkerchief to his pocket.</p><p>"I never took you for a 'friends with benefits' kinda guy." Isabelle added the air quotes as the amused smirk on her face got bigger. She was enjoying seeing Sherlock squirm a bit; it made him more human for her instead of this bigger than life person his reputation made him out to be.</p><p>Lestrade smiled a bit at Isabelle's teasing; she did it to everyone at the station. She had this way of twisting everyone's words around to mean something completely different than originally intended. It was never done with ill intent, as she explained it to him, but a way to get people to take themselves less seriously. It appeared that Sherlock would not be an exception.</p><p>There was no maliciousness in her teasing that made John wished that Isabelle had always worked with Lestrade and not Donovan. Logistically that was not possible as Isabelle was still learning the ropes of police work four years ago. Lestrade had confided in John that the reason Isabelle was assigned to him was because no one else wanted a Sargent that was so inexperienced and many were still wary of working with him. It was probably her inexperience that made it so easy for her to work with Sherlock; she had no expectations.</p><p>Perhaps it was a bless, perhaps a cruse. Only time could decipher that.</p><p>If looks could kill, the look Sherlock was giving Isabelle would have put her in the hospital for a few days. Isabelle just continued to grin at Sherlock unaffected. John was just glad that Sherlock was not throwing some insulting deduction in her direction.</p><p>"Tekla is certainly not my girlfriend." He repeated, glaring at the Sargent.</p><p>"Oh, I'm gonna have fun working with you." Isabelle remarked with a satisfied sigh. "Boss, you never told me he was a fun guy to work with." She glanced at Lestrade who was very glad his Sergeant was getting along with Sherlock with her own flair.</p><p>"I'm sure." Sherlock returned drily before turning to Lestrade. "There's a white powder on the victim's collar that I want to test. I believe it will lead us to the primary crime scene."</p><p>"I'll get forensics on it." Lestrade made a note in his note pad.</p><p>"Prefer to do my own." Sherlock said giving Lestrade a pointed look.</p><p>"Fine, get your sample," Lestrade resigned. "Bordeaux, make sure he does it correctly."</p><p>Isabelle gave Lestrade a salute before heading back inside. Sherlock only glared.</p><p>"I don't need a nanny."</p><p>"I know you don't," Lestrade tucked his note pad into his jacket. "But those are the rules."</p><p>They had talked about it when Lestrade had given Sherlock the paperwork. There would be extra scrutiny with the first few cases that Sherlock consulted on to prove that nothing was awry. Mostly to any remaining doubts over the consultant's viability to rest. That meant everything by the book and step by step by the book at that.</p><p>It had been a long conversation between the three men at the flat in Baker Street a few weeks ago, Lestrade had decided to bring the paperwork there instead of Sherlock coming to New Scotland Yard; about a hour and half the conversation shifted from the new regulations to other things about anything and everything. It felt almost . . . normal. Well, about as normal as one can get when talking about murder cases and killing methods.</p><p>The conversation ended when Sherlock received a call. John assumed it was Mycroft with the way Sherlock snapped when he answered. John walked Lestrade to the door and bid him a good night.</p><p>"That was different." Lestrade remarked as he shrugged on his coat.</p><p>"Yeah," John agreed. It seemed that Sherlock was finally making an effort to be polite, but there seemed to be more under that. There was an odd sense that Sherlock was trying to reconnect with Lestrade. Not just as the Detective Inspector who was willing to work with him, but on a more personal level.</p><p>Friendship, perhaps?</p><p>Whatever it was, it was pleasant.</p><p>By the time John returned upstairs, Sherlock was already pouring over the forms on the kitchen table with an annoyed expression.</p><p>"This is ridiculous." Sherlock had muttered turning over a page.</p><p>The rules were actually quite reasonable and understandable. John kept repeating that whenever Sherlock complained about a regulation he would be subjected to with the Yard. John had been tempted to simply record him explaining the explanation because he was tired of repeating himself, knowing how stubborn Sherlock could become, especially when he was in a mood. Fortunately, Lestrade had called with the current case before Sherlock could complain again.</p><p>In what could be best described as Sherlock biting the bullet, he nodded and followed Isabelle back inside to the body. Lestrade looked at John when Sherlock was out sight. Both men shared a laugh.</p><p>"It's good to have him back." Lestrade smiled. John could not help but agree.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope I did not shock anyone too badly, but Tekla will do as she pleases.</p><p>Please review and tell me what you think. Reviews are the only way I get paid!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Investigations and Other Activities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>More friends, more understandings.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Much thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for her help.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Hello Molly! I hope you're not too busy, I need to use your lab." Sherlock said in one breath as he breezed into the pathologist's lab with John close behind.</p><p>It took Molly Hooper a moment to realize who had just stepped into her lab and when she did Sherlock had already set himself at a microscope.</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p>John actually stopped for his greeting. "Molly."</p>
  <p>"John." She smiled.</p>
  <p>Over the years that Sherlock was hiding, John and Molly had become better friends. They connected on levels other than their association with Sherlock; they talked of their shared medical background, random new medical studies that they thought the other might appreciate, or even the weather.</p>
  <p>Never Sherlock.</p>
  <p>That had become the unspoken rule between the two; for John because it was, at first, too painful then it became something he did not wish to dwell on and for Molly because she was unsure if she would unconsciously let something slip to let John know that Sherlock was alive. It was greatly stressed to Molly by Mycroft that Sherlock's status should remain hidden, especially from John. While Mycroft's manner was not threaten it did bear the air of not being trifled with.</p>
  <p>Though John and Molly had become better friends they were not extremely close. They were not ones to go and share a cup of coffee together. But whenever their jobs caused them to cross paths they were more than willing to stop and have a chat.</p>
  <p>Upon learning of Molly's involvement in Sherlock's plan, John wanted to be mad, upset, anything towards her. But in the end he just could not make himself hate her, or any negative feelings. While he may have not like Sherlock's plan, there were parts of it that he could not argue against. One of those being Molly's help in falsifying his death.</p>
  <p>Of course this was not public knowledge. If it was known Molly could lose her position at St. Bart's for falsifying records.</p>
  <p>It could only be assumed that Mycroft had a hand in hiding Molly's involvement. Of which she was very glad. She was never hounded by reporters like John and Sherlock, being asked embarrassing or irrelevant questions. Molly was never one of those persons who could deflect questions thrown at them. She was very good in her field, but outside of that she was nervous.</p>
  <p>This was not the first time since Sherlock's return that he came to use Molly's lab or visit the morgue; he had some uses for them with his other private cases. It was during these times John notices more changes in Sherlock's demeanor towards Molly. While Sherlock would still barge in uninvited he would take a moment to say hello, and before he left he pause at the door with a thanks. Once in a while Sherlock would bring her a cup of coffee, which he would explain by saying he owed Molly coffee for all the cups she had brought him before.</p>
  <p>Small gestures that meant a lot, but Sherlock never dwelt on them so neither did John or Molly.</p>
  <p>There were still the moments of the consultant's blunt, brutal honesty. Those moments still stung Molly, John would get after Sherlock and Sherlock would, of course, look at him, clueless and oblivious as to what was wrong. Some things just cannot be expected to change.</p>
  <p>"Sodium hydroxide," Sherlock looked up from the microscope. "The white substance on the victim's collar – dry sodium hydroxide."</p>
  <p>"As in lye?" Everyone turned to Isabelle who had just entered the lab. "For tanning hide?"</p>
  <p>"How do you know that?" Molly asked.</p>
  <p>"I have an uncle in the business." Isabelle shrugged.</p>
  <p>"I thought you said your uncle was a carpenter." Molly remarked.</p>
  <p>"Different uncle," Isabelle made a beeline towards Sherlock who returned his attention to his sample. "Papa came from a very large family. I have more on the vic." She out her notebook from her jacket pocket. "Her name was Annie Moore; she was reported missing twelve days ago by her roommate and best friend, Jessica Nguyen hadn't seen her for two days. Both girls worked – "</p>
  <p>"At a brokerage firm, personal assistants to the partners of the firm." Sherlock interrupted. "Employers consider Annie Moore very efficient and thorough; essentially she kept the firm on schedule and everything organized. Wasn't in any relationship of any sort, left handed, dyed her hair brunette from her blond to be taken more seriously in her field of work."</p>
  <p>Molly and John were use to Sherlock rattling off list of information about people and they both wondered how Isabelle would react.</p>
  <p>"And she enjoyed doing the chicken dance while hoping on one foot." Isabelle remarked monotonically. That earned her a bewildered glare from Sherlock. "Yeah, that's how it feels. Anyway, asked around and everyone says the same thing."</p>
  <p>"Well liked by everyone." Sherlock finished.</p>
  <p>Isabelle eyed him for a moment before turning to John. "He likes to have the last word doesn't he?"</p>
  <p>"Yes," John did his best to suppress a snicker. To be honest he did not really try that hard.</p>
  <p>"Did you find out anything useful?" Sherlock demanded.</p>
  <p>"Finally was able to get in contact with the owners," Isabelle returned to her notes. "Heads up, the husband's a overly nervous fellow; anyway the family's been out of London for the past week for a holiday. Like you predicted, they don't know Annie Moore and they've never had any dealings with the firm she works with. But both the husband and wife were very defensive when being questioned, they might know more than they are letting on; could bear further investigation."</p>
  <p>"And you considered that useful." Sherlock did not sound impressed with the information.</p>
  <p>"Sherlock," John warned.</p>
  <p>"Not good?" Sherlock quickly glanced at John.</p>
  <p>"Just a tad." Isabelle nodded putting away her notebook. " <a>Merci pas coute arien.</a>" She added under her breath.</p>
  <p>"<a>Il vaut mieux suer que trembler.</a>" Sherlock responded in a dry manner.</p>
  <p>"Ok," Isabelle gave an uncertain smirk almost laughing. She was not sure if his use of Continental French was a disdain reaction to her more low brow Creole. For the moment, Isabelle decided to let it slide, but she had to admit it was nice to hear someone else speak a form of French; it reminded her of her summers spent with her paternal grandparents and her late father. "How does dry sodium hydroxide assist with the investigation?"</p>
  <p>"Possible lead in locating the primary crime scene." His explanation was brisk, he had already stated that before and wished she had listened then.</p>
  <p>"Right." Her response was flat; she remembered him mentioning that to Lestrade but the chance to give him some slight annoyance was too tempting to pass by. She smiled at Molly. "How soon can we expect the autopsy report?"</p>
  <p>"I should have it by the end of the day." Molly said.</p>
  <p>"You won't find much." Sherlock quipped.</p>
  <p>"Does anyone ever get the urge to just slap him across the face?" Isabelle did not miss a beat as she posed the question to John and Molly. John suppressed a chuckled and Molly only looked at her in surprise. "The kind of slap that would leave a nice big red mark; preferably on his right side since most people are right handed the left side of his face might be use to slaps, so the right side would sting a bit more."</p>
  <p>"No," Molly honestly replied. It was no secret that Sherlock had been harsh and cruel to her in the past. But the thought of striking back never crossed her mind. Words were a better tool; words were something that Sherlock would understand. That is, of course, if he listened.</p>
  <p>"Yeah, not really your style is it?" Isabelle smiled again.</p>
  <p>Isabelle's first case with Lestrade was a straightforward murder. The autopsy report was rather simple and Molly dealt with it quickly. Isabelle arrived at the morgue to pick up the report and was nice enough to bring coffee to the pathologist. The two women ended up talking for hours about this and that with the end result of Molly very much liking Isabelle.</p>
  <p>Unlike John, Molly would have coffee with Isabelle and talk of things outside of work that ranged beyond the medical field. It was nice for both women to have a girl friend to be able to chat about things, especially when their work took them to such gory, unsightly places indeed.</p>
  <p>"Hell, I'll ask anyway," Isabelle turned back to Sherlock. She leaned in close to his face until their faces were almost touching "Why won't we find anything on the body?" She asked a bit too loudly.</p>
  <p>Sherlock quickly leaned away so Isabelle would not be shouting in his ear. Resisting the urge to snap at her, he set his face and returned her stare.</p>
  <p>"Think." He pushed.</p>
  <p>She took a step back and thought. "If going off how little we found at the body dump, we could consider the state of the body to be similar; the killer probably took as much care to hide anything on the body that would identify him. But it wouldn't hurt to at least take a look."</p>
  <p>Sherlock looked at her before standing and heading to the door. "Maybe there's hope you yet, Sergeant. Thank you Molly." With a wave over his shoulder and a grab of his jacket he left the lab.</p>
  <p>"Don't mind him." John quickly said as he went to follow Sherlock.</p>
  <p>"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" Isabelle asked as John passed her. "Backhanded not withstanding."</p>
  <p>"I think it was." John shrugged before leaving himself hoping that Sherlock had not abandoned him.</p>
  <p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p>
  <p>After a day of looking for alkali suppliers and finding no odd purchases or missing inventory, John was tired. He had to work tomorrow and it would not do with him falling asleep at the clinic. That was a mistake that he did not want to make again. He just wanted a good night's rest.</p>
  <p>With everything that is involved with Sherlock, well laid plans tend to unexpectedly change as John discovered when he entered Baker Street.</p>
  <p>After having so many people coming in and out of the flat seeking Sherlock's help over the years John should not have been surprised to find two men he did not know in the sitting room. Mrs. Hudson probably let them in.</p>
  <p>One was of average height and muscled built, with light-ish brown hair and the type of tan that indicated he was often outside but not purposely working on bronzing his skin. The man had the stance of someone completely aware of their surroundings and ready for anything but took up the façade of relaxing. John recognized it having seen enough people in the service, especially those who were out in the field often, with a similar stance.</p>
  <p>He was seated on the couch along the wall watching the second man with a slightly exasperated expression, but he seemed accustomed to whatever was going on in front of him.</p>
  <p>John, however, was not; the second man was a bit taller and leaner than the first with fairer skin and darker hair; for some reason he looked vaguely familiar. Unlike the first man, he showed signs of working indoors, only venturing out when absolutely necessary. He was standing on a chair in front of the moose head waving a small electronic device about it while at the same time seeming to be having a staring contest with the animal head.</p>
  <p>"The headphones are a nice touch." The first man said, with a distinct American accent, New York if John was placing it correctly, as he stood and offered his hand. "Terasach Carleton."</p>
  <p>"John Watson." John shook the visitor's hand and tempted to keep eye contact. But his eyes kept wondering over to the second man staring at the moose. "Sorry, what exactly . . ."</p>
  <p>"Don't mind him." Carleton waved off the second man. "He's mostly harmless."</p>
  <p>"Marcus Hatcherson!" The second man exclaimed, also with an American accent, still staring at the moose. "Hatch for short; we're friends of Sherlock."</p>
  <p>The word 'friend' hit John, surprisingly hard; well, not that surprising really. He was use to Sherlock not telling him certain things about himself. He doubted he would have ever learned about Mycroft from Sherlock if Mycroft had not introduced himself first. But then again, people willing to describe themselves as Sherlock's friends was still odd.</p>
  <p>"Really," John could not think of anything else to say.</p>
  <p>"Really," Hatch parroted jumping down from the chair. He looked intently at the device in his hand. He then waved it about in front of John and looked at it intently again. "Excuse me." He made his way to the kitchen and methodically waved about the device around everything.</p>
  <p>"What are you doing?" John called out after him.</p>
  <p>"Scanning for bugs." Hatch called back followed by the clinks of things being moved.</p>
  <p>"What?"</p>
  <p>"Listening devices small enough to be easily hidden." Hatch popped his head in. "Do I want to know why there's a container of CO2 in the kitchen?"</p>
  <p>"Think for a moment who lives here." Carleton remarked, to which Hatch nodded and disappeared again.</p>
  <p>"So, how long have you known Sherlock?" John asked trying to keep his immense curiosity in check.</p>
  <p>Carleton had a mild surprise look on his face before answering. "We worked with him for a few years on and off."</p>
  <p>"Same as Tekla." John murmured to no one in particular.</p>
  <p>"Ah, you've met Tekla," Carleton chuckled. "She is an experience."</p>
  <p>"Yes she was." John agreed. "I don't think she could have shocked anyone was much as she did when she kissed Sherlock."</p>
  <p>"Hold the phone!" Hatch reentered the room and was now holding Sherlock's harpoon as a staff and leaning against it. "Who kissed my wife?"</p>
  <p>"She's your wife?!" John was now in shock and feeling a bit confused. With good reason he should say.</p>
  <p>"You kiss her?" Hatch now pointed the harpoon at John who quickly shook his head. Best not mess with a man who holds a sharp object in one's face.</p>
  <p>Carleton stepped forward to gently push the harpoon out of John's face. Hatch had seem to forgotten he was holding a sharp object when he elected to use it as a pointer.</p>
  <p>"Tekla kissed Sherlock." Carleton sighed. Apparently Tekla's behavior was not surprising since Hatch just nodded. Any anger that might have been in the man's face was gone in an instant since he now understood.</p>
  <p>"Right." Hatch left the room again, harpoon in tow over his shoulder.</p>
  <p>Taking a few moments to reexamine what just happened in his head, John turned to Carleton. "He's . . . not mad?"</p>
  <p>"It's Tekla." Carleton said as though that was the only explanation needed. "And it was with Sherlock. Well, I guess it depends on your definition of 'mad'." He added when he saw the confusion still lingering in John's face. "He hasn't told you about us?"</p>
  <p>"Should he have?" John was just feeling more dumbfounded. He suddenly recalled something that Tekla said in passing at the crime scene; about how he should have known. It seemed there were a lot of things John should have known since Sherlock's return but he was still skittish about approaching the subject with John. Unfortunately, John's patience was becoming thin.</p>
  <p>The sound of the front door slamming shut rang through the air and the sound of footstep followed up the stairs snapping John out of his thoughts.</p>
  <p>Sherlock paused when he saw Carleton next to John,  genuinely surprised by the presence of the man.</p>
  <p>"Where there is one, there should be the other." Sherlock remarked looking around the flat.</p>
  <p>"Right here." Hatch reappeared again from the kitchen with a smile on his face. "You look well."</p>
  <p>"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked. Well, it was more like a subtle demand.</p>
  <p>"Can't we just swing by and say hello to a friend?" Hatch asked.</p>
  <p>"No." Sherlock knew better than to settle on such a simple explanation. In the back of his mind he was wondering how he was going to explain them to John. While John's face remain placid, his eyes were curious and determined; Sherlock would not get away without an explanation as easily as he may have before.</p>
  <p>"Working vacation." Carleton explained. "Nice place ya got."</p>
  <p>"Working on what?"</p>
  <p>"Seriously?" Hatch huffed a little. "No 'Hey how ya been?', 'Good to see you too.', or even a simple 'hello'. But I will admit it's nice for you to ask as appose to deducing."</p>
  <p>"We should be so honored." Carleton smirked.</p>
  <p>"Please don't." Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head. He sounded a little exasperated.</p>
  <p>"Good news." Hatch pressed his hands together and used them to point to Sherlock. "Your apartment is bug free. Bad news, I think something is growing in your fridge."</p>
  <p>"That's an experiment." Sherlock said. John was surprised when both Carleton and Hatch said the same thing as Sherlock in perfect unison with him.</p>
  <p>"Yeah, I figured." Hatch said.</p>
  <p>"What are you working on?" Sherlock repeated his question.</p>
  <p>"We're looking into a few leads concerning a job; brought us here to London." Carleton sat back down on the couch.</p>
  <p>"Plus our Fearless Leader is doing a lecture tour or something like that, at all the major universities in Britain." Hatch added. "We thought we would tag along. Oh, and what were you doing kissing my wife?"</p>
  <p>Half of John wanted to laugh at Sherlock's exasperated expression and the other half wanted to warn Hatch of the impending danger he was dangling himself in front of.</p>
  <p>"<em>She</em> kissed me." Sherlock stressed.</p>
  <p>"I got that, but why?" Hatch was not surprised in any way; he was almost deadpan in his question.</p>
  <p>"Hell if I know!" Sherlock threw his hands up. "Half the things Tekla does makes little to no sense."</p>
  <p>"She overheard Donovan and Anderson talking about you." John revealed causing the other three men to look at him. "They still don't like your consulting with the Yard."</p>
  <p>"That's not surprising." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "But that still doesn't – "</p>
  <p>"Yeah, it does." Carleton smiled.</p>
  <p>"I have an awesome wife." Hatch said fondly. "It was her way of getting them to shut up."</p>
  <p>"Well, it worked." John had to agree. It was an odd course of action to him, but he could not deny that it did make Donovan and Anderson mute. It made everyone mute.</p>
  <p>"Anyway," Hatch clasped his hands together. "We're glad to hear that you're working on a case with New Scotland Yard, congratulations on that. We're all here in London so we thought we could all get together with all the usual suspects."</p>
  <p>"I'm busy." Sherlock stated.</p>
  <p>"We know," Carleton handed Sherlock a business card after he wrote something on the back. "When are you not?"</p>
  <p>"We'll let you get back to it." Hatch smiled. "It was good to finally meet you John." He said as he passed the doctor to leave. He mimed a phone with his hand at his face and mouthed 'call us' to Sherlock.</p>
  <p>Carleton patted Sherlock on the shoulder as he went to the door. When the sound of the front door open and closed John turned to Sherlock.</p>
  <p>"They seem . . . nice." John remarked.</p>
  <p>"Relative." Sherlock walked to the kitchen to examine the growing thing in the fridge.</p>
  <p>John followed him and leaned against the wall to watch Sherlock with his experiment.</p>
  <p>"Were you ever going to tell me about them?" John finally asked. He was tired of the secrets. "Are you going to tell me anything? You've worked things out with Mycroft – how? What did you do those three years across Europe? Who else have you met? Why haven't you told me anything? Look, I understand that there are somethings that you did while you were hiding that you don't want to talk about, but – "</p>
  <p>"John," Sherlock had his back to John looking over his experiment on the table. He could hear the heaviness in John's breath from his rapid questions. "There's an appalling directness about your questions. They come at me like bullets."</p>
  <p>John waited for Sherlock to go on and the air felt heavy as he waited. Soon enough, Sherlock turned around to face him.</p>
  <p>"I am expecting something within the next week," He explained attaching sincerity to each of his words as best he could. He knew that he would not being able to keep John in the dark for much longer; especially since meeting the Hatcherson and Carleton. "Once that occurs I will answer any and all questions you have. You have my word."</p>
  <p>"I am full of curiosity. I should much prefer to hear it now." John's words were brimming with sarcasm. He wanted to snap at Sherlock, but he resisted. But that sense of secrets and deception ate away at him.</p>
  <p>When Sherlock did not answer, John threw up his hands and went to bed. Sherlock listen to John's footsteps up the stairs until his friend reached his room. With the gentle thud of a door closing Sherlock checked his phone.</p>
  <p>There was still no reply to multitude of texts.</p>
  <p>He found that to be very out of character. And worrisome.</p>
  <p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p>
  <p>Most people would say that cold is a numbing sensation.</p>
  <p>She wished that she was numb, in body and in mind. Not to feel the hard ground beneath her or the wall behind her, or feel the aches and pains throughout her body. The cold prickled at her skin highlighting where it hurt the most.</p>
  <p>She just did not want to feel anything. She knew her emotions were being manipulated, but it was becoming harder to rationalize.</p>
  <p>It was becoming harder to do anything, really.</p>
  <p>Breathe deeply and do not scream; it was slowly becoming a mantra in her increasingly muddled mind. Her point of focus.</p>
  <p>She closed her eyes as the shuffle of footsteps approached the barred door.</p>
  <p>Her eyes opened with the door and she stared defiantly towards the bright light.</p>
  <p>Alright then, next round.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't know if the Sherlock (BBC) fandom is still active. There wasn't much response to the last chapter so I have no idea what people thought. (Reviews are also the only way I get paid! ;) ) But that's ok - I'm determined to finish this story.</p><p>This is also posted on fanfiction.net, and I'm editing it as I post it here while writing new sections. </p><p>Oh, and all the translations of the non-English text for this story can be found in the hovertext.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Revealing Facts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As the investigation continues, we learn more about the victim, and our heroes come to a horrible conclusion.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Much thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for her help keeping characters in character, and to 'lackie' for brain storming with me.</p><p>Thank you for the lovely reviews for the last chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Damn!" Sherlock cursed under his breath as he left the building. "Completely useless!"</p><p>"Just because he couldn't give you the answers you wanted doesn't make the man useless." John said quickly following his friend.</p><p>"I was referring to his capabilities as a security officer. His salary is a waste." Sherlock continued along the sidewalk. His stuffed his fists into his coat pockets fuming at the inadequacies that always seemed to surround him.</p><p>John knew what was coming and decided not to resist the natural course of things. "Alright then, how?"</p><p>"The worn paperback he had badly hidden under the clipboard. There were more in the slightly opened top drawer of the desk. Top drawers are usually reserved for objects often used because of the ease of access. He had no less than a dozen books stuffed in that drawer. If he was doing his job he wouldn't require so much reading material to pass the time."</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p>The interview of the brokerage firm's front desk security officer, who was the last to see Annie Moore, was not as helpful as the two men had hoped.</p>
  <p>When Sherlock was finished with his short rant John moved on to the next question. "So what now?"</p>
  <p>"I need to look at her flat. Taxi!"</p>
  <p>It was halfway through the taxi ride at Sherlock realized he had clutched his hands so hard that his nail cut into his palms; just enough for blood to blossom, but not enough to drip. He carefully returned his hands to his pockets before John could notice.</p>
  <p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p>
  <p>Annie Moore had lived in a comfortable flat, well within her means and not too extravagant. It had that lived-in, homey feel that places get when multiple people have passed through during the past several decades. No pets, friendly neighbors and clean.</p>
  <p>Or it was clean until Sherlock had at it.</p>
  <p>At the end of his extensive messy examination Sherlock gained a few theories and conclusions. Most of which John did not register because he was too busy looking aghast at the mess. One did catch his attention.</p>
  <p>"She took the same route to work at the same time during the week." Sherlock announced.</p>
  <p>"That would make it easier to learn her schedule then." John reasoned. Another look around the room made him shake his head. "How are you going to explain this mess?" John reluctantly picked up a few items discarded by Sherlock in his frantic search and attempted to return them as closely to their original location as possible.</p>
  <p>"Irrelevant." Sherlock deflected; a bit annoyed that John did not take note of his conclusions and seemed more interested in the mess than what Sherlock had to say.</p>
  <p>"Not to the landlord." John shot back. "We're not leaving until this is straightened out."</p>
  <p>"If you insist," Sherlock sighed as he stood. "I'll leave you to it."</p>
  <p>"Sherlock." John gave his friend a warning look.</p>
  <p>Sherlock held the look for a few moments before rolling his eyes. "Very well." Then picked up the books at his feet; he surprised John by actually returned the books in an orderly fashion and not in a haphazard manner. If he would do that once in awhile at Baker Street John would be ecstatic.</p>
  <p>"If she took the same route to work everyday, is that what we're doing next after this?" John asked. It was mostly for conversation sake but in reality it was really to push Sherlock to include him in whatever he was planning next. Since the arrival of the previously unknown friends earlier in the week, John felt that Sherlock had left him on the sidelines in regards to the truth and explanation of his time away than he originally thought. John was determined not to allow this to continue to happen.</p>
  <p>"She was taken in a violent manner; as evident by the bruises on her arms and legs." Sherlock stated as he rearranged the papers on a desk; most likely not in any form or fashion, just piles. "We know it wasn't a random attack, this was well planned, well executed. Hence she was taken in a place relatively hidden from general view that the killer knew she would most definitely pass."</p>
  <p>So, they would be running about London. Nothing new there.</p>
  <p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p>
  <p>It was an odd sensation, especially when one was aware of it. The loss of blood. The strange pull of it leaving your body leaving it weak and on the path towards death.</p>
  <p>She had little strength to sit up, so she laid on the floor on her side where she was so unceremoniously dumped by her captors.</p>
  <p>Her arm was before her face. She had really liked the blouse she had on, but now it was truly beyond any form of repair. Blood from newly acquired cuts seeped through the material adding more hideous shades of unsightly browns and muted reds.</p>
  <p>She suddenly felt another liquid more across her skin. Her face.</p>
  <p>Had they cut her there? No, no they had not.</p>
  <p>It was not blood; it moved too quickly across the surface to have the same viscosity as blood.</p>
  <p>Tears. She was crying.</p>
  <p>The question that screamed in her head over and over – why was this happening?</p>
  <p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p>
  <p>With the lack of evidence and the threat of the case, his first case with the Yard, going cold,  left Sherlock in a foul mood.</p>
  <p>Never a good thing.</p>
  <p>He knew how the victim was killed and when, but not where, who or why. It resulted in an interesting concerto of violin music in Baker Street. John was not sure how to describe Sherlock's new composition but he knew it was beginning to grate on his nerves and threaten his sanity.</p>
  <p>"Sherlock!" The music screeched to a halt.</p>
  <p>"What am I missing?" Sherlock demanded of himself almost throwing the violin. Instead his gripped the poor instrument's neck. so much that John thought it would break under the pressure. "There has to be something that reveals the killer. Why can't I see it?"</p>
  <p>Fearing for the violin's well being John took the instrument from Sherlock and returned it to it's case. He also made sure that the lock to his gun safe was not picked. No sign of forced entry, which was a relief. He was also glad that he had made sure there was not any tobacco products in the flat yesterday when he first noticed his friends agitation.</p>
  <p>"I need to think." Sherlock plopped into his chair. John noticed the slight twitch in Sherlock's feet.</p>
  <p>"You need to calm down." John remarked before turning to his own chair.</p>
  <p>"I am calm!"</p>
  <p>"Right, I'll just tell that to the three beakers remains I swept up last night."</p>
  <p>"They had it coming."</p>
  <p>"Like the wall."</p>
  <p>"Exactly."</p>
  <p>"Ever think that you're not missing anything?" At this point John was willing to suggest anything to get Sherlock to stop being so jittery.</p>
  <p>It surprised him when Sherlock actually stilled and that expression of connecting all the relative points enveloped his face.</p>
  <p>"She wasn't killed because she was hated or had money." Sherlock muttered as the last of pieces fell into place.</p>
  <p>"What?"</p>
  <p>"I need to call Lestrade."</p>
  <p>Sherlock sprang from his chair and went to his room to retrieve his phone leaving a stun and confused John, who was at least thankful that the music would not continue that day or anything else broken.</p>
  <p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p>
  <p>"She wasn't involved in any illegal business, an illicit affair, her salary was modest which she budgeted to the last cent, and I can't find any hidden skeletons in her closet. There is no reason this woman should have been killed; none of the basic motivations apply here." Isabelle cried exasperated before banging her head on the notes on the table.</p>
  <p>"Feeling better?" Lestrade asked unfazed by his Sergeant's behavior. After the years of working with Sherlock and his erratic behavior before John came along, he felt nothing ever could He lean back against his desk with his arms crossed and kept looking at everything they had pinned on the wall beside the desk hoping to see something that they missed. Anything to get the case going again. But as it was twenty minutes ago – nothing.</p>
  <p>Isabelle shot her head up. "Yes actually." Her tone was much calmer. She then rested her head in her hand and looked over the Lestrade. "Any thoughts?"</p>
  <p>"You're right." Lestrade had a thought. He turned around and placed both hands on the desk and looked straight at Isabelle. "There is no reason to kill her."</p>
  <p>"What are you saying?" Her brows furrowed together as she took in his words. She sat up mulling over it.</p>
  <p>At that moment both their mobiles pinged.</p>
  <p>"I still don't understand why Holmes has to text both of us when he trusts you more." Isabelle opened the text. "Besides he still hasn't gotten me that coffee yet."</p>
  <p>'No motive. Killer unconnected to victim. -SH'</p>
  <p>"Is that what you were thinking?" Isabelle looked up to Lestrade.</p>
  <p>"Pretty much." Lestrade replaced his phone back on the desk and took a sip of coffee from one of the two cups that stood near the edge of the scattered paperwork.</p>
  <p>"Are you going to tell him you had the same idea?"</p>
  <p>"No." He pocketed his phone.</p>
  <p>Lestrade had that look, Isabelle recognized it. It was that same look he got when she first worked under him and he was gently pushing her towards a conclusion that he already figured out. Those moments when he was teaching her to be a better detective.</p>
  <p>She smiled when she understood. "Have you ever?"</p>
  <p>"No."</p>
  <p>"Why ever not?"</p>
  <p>"Why rain on his parade?" Lestrade smiled standing up straight to get a refill of coffee for both of them.</p>
  <p>-<em>MHSHEH-</em></p>
  <p>As part of his agreement to consult with the Yard Sherlock had to discuss his findings and theories with the lead investigator of whatever case he was on. With things he did not like he usually ranked them on a list ranging from strong dislike to absolute loathing; his newly required regulations ranked rather close to the loathing. He did not revel in the idea of having to explain point by point a deduction he had with someone like Donovan or anyone in general.</p>
  <p>For Lestrade, however, Sherlock was willing to withhold that complaint and actually do it. Lestrade was one of the few detectives on the Force who would understand the first go at it.</p>
  <p>They had piled into Lestrade's office without too much difficulty. Lestrade sat behind his desk, in front of John and Sherlock took the chairs. Isabelle was the last to come in bearing cups of coffee for everyone. After handing everyone a cup, she saw no empty chair available. John was about to offer his when she just perched herself on the front edge of Lestrade's desk so that she face John and Sherlock and crossed her legs after placing the coffee down.</p>
  <p>There was a moment when John thought that Lestrade would tell her to get off. But Lestrade just handed over her cup to her.</p>
  <p>"What?" Isabelle asked when she saw John looking curiously at her.</p>
  <p>"Nothing." He said quickly and turned away in time to see the tail-end of a smirk disappearing from Sherlock's face.</p>
  <p>Sherlock was amused by the Sergeant's actions and John's reactions to them.</p>
  <p>"The general consensus of everyone connected to the case is that Annie Moore was well liked." Sherlock began.</p>
  <p>"Made it difficult to find any suspects." Lestrade remarked.</p>
  <p>"There's something more devious going on." Sherlock sounded a bit excited. Lestrade was going to own that to the fact that the case turned interesting for Sherlock. "This was an impersonal attack from someone who never met Annie Moore, but knew everything about her."</p>
  <p>There was pause in the room as everyone else took in what Sherlock just said.</p>
  <p>"How could you possibly know that?" Isabelle asked.</p>
  <p>"I thought you didn't want to hear my deductions, just my conclusions." Sherlock looked at her pointedly. John could have hit him up side the head; he tried to give Sherlock the look that the consulting detective knew meant he had erred in some way; but Sherlock was locked in a stare with the Sergeant.</p>
  <p>"That's only when you're doing the whole 'behold my genius' spiel." Isabelle took a sip of her coffee, seemingly unaffected by Sherlock's jab.</p>
  <p>"Why do you say the killer knew everything about her?" Lestrade asked before his Sergeant and the Consultant could get into a verbal joust. Again. Knowing both of them it would end in a stalemate. Again.</p>
  <p>"The injuries on the body." Sherlock rifled through the autopsy pictures and pulled out a few to show his point.</p>
  <p>It was at this point that John looked at Isabelle and Lestrade, and was glad to see that he was not the only one who was confused by Sherlock's explanation.</p>
  <p>Seeing the confusion, Sherlock sighed before delving into his explanation. "Look at her forearms; they each have twenty-nine cuts parallel to each other staring from the elbow to the wrist. The victim was twenty-nine. Her roommate remarked at her enjoyment of dancing, each foot bore a fifth metatarsal avulsion fracture, more commonly known as a 'dancer's break'. Due to the nature of her job she did a lot of typing, both her hands and wrists were broken in a fashion to simulate untreated carpal tunnel."</p>
  <p>"Wait," Lestrade held up his hand motioning Sherlock to stop talking. "Are you saying that her injuries correspond to what she did in life?"</p>
  <p>"Yes."</p>
  <p>"The killer would have to spent weeks observing her to figure everything out." Lestrade pointed out. "Maybe even months!."</p>
  <p>"Exactly!" Sherlock smiled. This was certainly a good case to challenge his skills.</p>
  <p>"Sherlock, you sound a bit too excited." John murmured behind his coffee mug.</p>
  <p>"Kinda creepy." Isabelle deadpanned.</p>
  <p>Lestrade expected an equally deadpanned response from Sherlock, but none came. No, there was more of a strange look on Sherlock's face as he looked at Isabelle of being reminded of something, but he shook it off quickly.</p>
  <p>"Any leads on possible suspects? We've come up empty on our end." Lestrade looked down at his notebook making sure he had everything noted. When no answer came, he glanced up to the consultant.</p>
  <p>Sherlock had his hands laced together, covering his lips that were pressed together in dissatisfaction.</p>
  <p>"Sherlock?" Lestrade prompted; he did not like that look of aversion on Sherlock, it made him feel uneasy.</p>
  <p>Now John, Isabelle and Lestrade were all looking at Sherlock waiting for an answer, which only serve to irritate him.</p>
  <p>"Unfortunately, there's nothing to reveal the identity of the killer." Sherlock said resignedly through gritted teeth. He looked away; he did not to admit that he was lost, but he could not avoid it forever.</p>
  <p>"What?" John was surprised by Sherlock's declaration; so were Isabelle and Lestrade.</p>
  <p>"There's nothing to deduce the identity of the killer," Sherlock repeated, frustration dripping from his words. "The killer knew my methods well enough to erase anything that would point in that direction."</p>
  <p>"You have nothing on the killer?" Isabelle asked; the grip on her coffee cup unconsciously tighten causing her knuckles to whiten. She started at Sherlock in surprise. "So, what you're saying is you're about as lost as we are?"</p>
  <p>Sherlock was highly tempted to snap at Isabelle for her question, but that would be counter-productive and probably induce her to say another witty annoying remark.</p>
  <p>Resisting a frustrated sigh, Sherlock turned his gaze to Lestrade. "I wouldn't go as far as that, but. . . it is an unfortunate conclusion. The only thing I can deduce is it's a man with a medical background."</p>
  <p>"We might as well arrest Dr. Watson with that description." Isabelle waved in John's general direction to prove a point. "No offense." She quickly added.</p>
  <p>"None taken." John waved off her concern.</p>
  <p>"That's because that's all the evidence is saying." Sherlock was frustrated. He had discovered so much about the case, but so little on the killer. He had accepted the fact in the early years of being a consultant that there were one or two things that would escape his notice. But those one or two things were minor and had little bearing on the overall matter. For him to see so little and the killer acted with that intention was to say the least disconcerting.</p>
  <p>There was always a stunned silence after Sherlock gave his conclusions; but this was not the sort of silence that Sherlock enjoyed.</p>
  <p>It was uncomfortable.</p>
  <p>It was heavy with uneasiness. Uncertainty.</p>
  <p>No one would dare say that Sherlock was losing his touch. He had solved every one of his private cases he had taken before this one with the Yard. That only served to stir his ire even more.</p>
  <p>"You know," Lestrade finally spoke, breaking the silence. He leaned back in his chair and tossed his pen on his desk. "All the times I dreamed of this moment, and it isn't nearly as satisfying as I thought it would be."</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>What is this? Another update within the same month? You betcha!</p><p>My New Year's resolution is going to be simple - finish this story and get back to my creative writing. I took a break from a lot of my creative outlets so I could focus on grad school. Worth it since, not only finished my degree, I got it with honors. </p><p>That being said, my writing style has drastically changed and it might become more noticeable in the upcoming chapters. Hopefully it is a change for the better.</p><p>Please read and review to let me know what you think.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. An Interview and Help</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The investigation needs help. New information comes to light. An attempt is made to utter the unutterable things.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My eternal gratitude goes to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for all her help. I could not write this without her. Again, thank you.</p><p>If anyone has read this on fanfiction.net I just want to let you know I have edited, and changed a few things here. The course of the mystery has changed course since I originally wrote this (due to losing all my notes and my improving in plotting).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"So to sum up – if it wasn't for the fact that there was a body in the middle of the room, it wouldn't be considered a crime scene due to lack of evidence." Lucas leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand over his face. Lestrade noted the frustrated edge in the chief's voice.</p><p>"Yes sir; it's almost as if -" Lestrade stopped, he was not sure.</p><p>"You have a theory." Lucas prompted, rested his head against his fist, looking over Lestrade, examining the state the detective.</p><p>"There's nothing to support it sir. I would rather not until it's more substantiated." Lestrade felt himself too hold to squirm like a schoolboy under the gaze of the headmaster, but Lucas' visual examination of him nearly made him.</p><p>"Humour me then."</p><p>Lestrade quietly sighed. "The location of the body dump was done in such a way that they expected Sherlock Holmes to be there and know his methods well enough to cover up."</p><p>"When did you decided to call in Holmes?"</p><p>Lestrade was surprised by how Lucas did not immediately scoff at his theory. He should not have been when he thought about it. With each interaction that Lestrade had with the chief superintendent, he felt more at ease with him. Lucas was open minded, but not so much that he did not have a mind of his own. Unlike his predecessor, Lucas allowed Lestrade and other D.I.s more freedom with their movements regarding cases. Come to think of it, Lucas only seemed to get involve when someone was not doing their job.</p><p>"On the way to the scene sir." Lestrade explained. "I called him about halfway there."</p><p>"And the entire station has been gossiping and wondering when Holmes would be brought in on a case to consult." Lucas said thoughtfully as he thought back. "Would you say that Holmes is stumped then?"</p><p>There were possibilities of who the killer was; someone with a detailed understanding of how the station worked and forensics to counter any findings. Such possibilities lead to an uncomfortable that someone within the force could be part of the murder.</p><p>Lucas wondered if going outside the force would be beneficial. Especially if the killer was working to nullify the effectiveness of Sherlock Holmes.</p><p>"He can tell you exactly how the victim died and identify the victim." Lestrade stated as Lucas thought.</p><p>The detective inspector was hoping that he did not make a mistake calling in Sherlock too soon. He understood the consultant's need for interesting cases and Lestrade had his own need of the insight provided by Sherlock.</p><p>"May I throw out a thought?" Lucas asked after a moment.</p><p>"I'm open to suggestions, sir."</p><p>"I just have one," Lucas opened a desk draw and pulled out a pad to write a note. "There is an American professor by the name of Wilhelm Lehrer. He's here in London giving a lecture series, I think on philosophy or something of the like. You are now probably wondering why I'm telling you this." Lucas torn the sheet of paper from the pad and held it out to Lestrade. "Before he took up teaching philosophy he was a criminal profiler with the United State's Federal Bureau of Investigation. Years ago I worked on a case where Lehrer worked in consultation over the phone; he was able to proved insight that opened a different avenue of investigation that directly lead to the arrest of the perpetrator."</p><p>Lestrade looked at the note; Fordham University London Center next to Heythrop College and the time of that night's lecture. "You believe he could help with this case."</p><p>"A different perspective that this killer might not have considered." Lucas rummaged through his desk again. "He was especially good with serial cases. A sort of knack for it, if you will."</p><p>"Serial killers?" Lestrade wanted to make sure he hard his Superior officer correctly.</p><p>"Serial killers." Lucas repeated before handing Lestrade a file from his desk. "I keep references of cases that deal with usual forensic tactics and investigative methods. There is a brief summary of some of the cases that Lehrer worked from public information releases. One of his cases has a few similarities to your current one."</p><p>"Do you believe that the killer studied these old cases?" Lestrade opened the file. He first caught sight of black and white photocopies of old crime scene photographs. Horrendous crime scenes that could even make an experienced investigator like Lestrade gag a little.</p><p>"Just covering the basics."</p><p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p><p>Isabelle sat quietly in the car looking through the file from Lucas as Lestrade drove. The graininess of the copies could not hide the gruesomeness of the deaths.</p><p>"I don't know which is worst." Isabelle closed the file, not wanting to read any more. "That it might be the same person or someone new thought that it was a great idea and tried to replicate it."</p><p>Lestrade did not respond. How could he? Both options were equally bad, neither were things he wanted to contemplate or consider. If the meeting with this Lehrer fellow did not take too long he would take the file to Sherlock to get his opinion on the matter.</p><p>"How is working with Sherlock?" Lestrade decided to ask. He could not help but ask now that the consultant detective was in his mind and knowing how badly he had worked with Donovan, Lestrade wanted to check in and make sure Isabelle was handling everything okay. He did not want a repeat of his last Sergeant with Sherlock.</p><p>Isabelle had been expecting Lestrade to ask her that. She had listened to the whispers that went around the station about Sherlock. About how impossible it was to work with the consultant, that he was arrogant, annoying, and insufferable. Despite all the negative feeling towards Sherlock, no one could deny that cases were solved under him.</p><p>She shrugged. "It's not so bad."</p><p>If Lestrade did not need to keep his eyes on the road he would be giving her a dubious look. "Really."</p><p>"Well, I mean – he's not the most . . ." Isabelle sighed. "I understand why people at the station hate his guts or at least really don't like him. I'm not saying that some of his harsher remarks don't sting, 'cause they do, but at the same time I'm not going to let that get in the way of the investigation. I can work with a jackass as long as said jackass does his job."</p><p>"And?"</p><p>"I'll be fine." She insisted as they arrived at their destination.</p><p>Lestrade parked the car, turned off the engine and turned to look at his Sergeant. Feeling his eyes on her, she stole a quick glace before looking away and conceded with a sigh.</p><p>"I actually like him," She freely admitted. "Beneath the rude, abrasive behavior is a good person, I can feel it in my bones. But . . . I'm concerned."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"He seems . . . distracted." She turned in her car seat so she mirrored Lestrade. "Like he's got several things on his mind on top of this case."</p><p>"I know Sherlock can handle several cases at once." Lestrade assured her thinking back to when Sherlock first began consulting. Sherlock always seemed to have another case on his mind or at least one of his famed strange experiments. It was like his mind was always racing ahead and needed several things to keep it in check so he could stay in the present; almost a distraction Lestrade mused.</p><p>"I don't think it's a case." She stressed. "From what I understand he has been on the lam for about three years. Running, hiding for that long can do something to a person. The past year he's been caught up in inquiries and readjusting to living in the open with little chance of having a normal, or as normal as he can get, moment. This is his first case, maybe he's nervous, maybe he's not, I don't know, but he's dealing with something."</p><p>Lestrade nodded as considered her words. He had noticed that something was strained between Sherlock and John the last few times he saw them. At first he had put this down to the normal squabbles he had seen them always have, but now as he considered his Sergeant's words he had to reason if it was something more.</p><p>Before he thought too much on that subject he wanted to get back to his original question.</p><p>"So the problem you have with Sherlock is not because he's rude but because you're concern for his well-being?"</p><p>"As I have stated Boss, I can work with a jackass as long as they can do they job." Isabelle smiled opening the car door. "Still owes me coffee!"</p><p>Lestrade smiled.</p><p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p><p>Lestrade and Isabelle entered the lecture hall. It was full of people of all sorts, all intently listening to the speaker, who happen to be the man they were looking for.</p><p>Lestrade would not describe the man at the podium as old, or really young for that matter. But there was an ageless quality to him that gave him the appearance of wisdom and knowledge that was confirmed by the words that came from him. He struck the detective as an old fashion professor with all the subtle stereotypes floating about him and the dignity of bearing which a lecturer needs; but his clothes were not very worn as one would think with a professor, indeed they were very fine. Almost expensive. That struck Lestrade as an odd combination, the professor appearance with expensive clothes.</p><p>Lestrade and Isabelle settled in the back of the hall and waited for the man to finish.</p><p>"Thus ends, in unavoidable inadequacy, the attempt to utter the unutterable things." He spoke with an approachable authority and small hand motions. He did not exactly stand behind the podium on the stage, but stood to the side and casually leaned against it. "These are my ultimate attitudes towards life; the soils for the seeds of doctrine. These in some dark way I thought before I could write, and felt before I could think, basically before I could rationalize: so that we may proceed more easily, I will roughly recapitulate the points now.</p><p>"I felt down in my bones; first, that this world does not explain itself, at all. It may be a miracle with a supernatural explanation; maybe it's a conjuring trick, with a natural explanation. But if it <em>is</em> a conjuring trick, if it is to satisfy me, the explanation will have to be better than the natural explanations I have heard. The thing is essentially magic, true or false.</p><p>"Second, I came to feel as if magic must have a meaning, and meaning must have someone, a person, to mean it. There was something personal in the world, as in, let us say, a work of art; whatever it meant it meant violently. Third, I thought this purpose beautiful in its old design, in spite of its defects, such as . . . let's go with – dragons. Dragons are fun.</p><p>"Fourth, that the proper form of thanks to it is some form of humility and restraint: we should thank God for beer and burgundy by not drinking too much of them. After a certain point how can you tell what you're drinking or what you're saying. So, please be wise to your drinking." There was a murmur of laughter in the crowd. "We owed, also, an obedience to whatever made us.</p><p>"And last, and the strangest, there had come into my mind a vague impression that in some way all good was a remnant to be stored and held sacred out of some primordial ruin. Man had saved his goods as Robin Crusoe saved his goods: he had saved them from a wreck. On a side note, please do try not to get stranded on an island, highly inconvenient." There was another, though louder, murmur of laughter.</p><p>"All this I felt and the age gave me no encouragement to feel it. And all this time I had not even thought of any form of theology, Christian or otherwise" He took a few note cards from the podium and stuffed them in his coat's inner pocket as an polite but enthusiastic applaud began in the hall. He gave small nod of the head and polite waves as he sat down.</p><p>Another man stood at the podium and began to give a brief general house keeping rules, the time of the next talk in the series held there, where the speaker would be next, and other bits of information that Lestrade was not really concerned about.</p><p>By the reaction of the people in the seats, Lestrade could hazard a safe guess that the next talk would be just as crowded as this one. There was a word of thanks to Lehrer and another round of applause was given. As people began to file out Lestrade made his move forward with Isabelle closed behind. </p><p>"Dr. Wilhelm Lehrer." Lestrade said as he reached him. The man turned and Lestrade was once again struck by the paradox that was this man; it seemed more palpable up close. </p><p>"If you have a question I'm afraid you'll have to ask it at the next lecture. Or email, I can do email." Wilhelm was patting down his jacket as he spoke, at a lost looking for something. Reaching into the breast pocket he breathed a sigh of relief and pulled out his phone. "I do apologize, but I think I'm late for something."</p><p>"This is rather urgent." Lestrade held up his badge.</p><p>Wilhelm's brows shot up in bemusement as he read the identification squinting over his glasses before nodding. "I see."</p><p>"I just got a call from the director from NYUL; wanted to know -" A woman approached from behind Wilhelm wearing an exasperated face. She stopped short when she noticed Lestrade and Isabelle. She had that same ageless quality as Wilhelm, but had a more rustic aura about her. Unlike Wilhelm she did not wear professional attire but a more casual business outfit and still had that similar approachable authority that demanded respect. "Is something wrong?"</p><p>"I hope not; it's the police." He explained to her. He did not turn around to her, even as she place a hand on his arm.</p><p>"I've already explained that I wasn't packing plastic explosives; it was peanut butter." The woman sounded slightly strained on the subject, probably as a result of explaining over and over. Isabelle resisted a laugh and bit her lower lip to keep it that way. "I already promise in future I pack the peanut butter in my check baggage."</p><p>"I doubt these homicide detectives are interested in our peanut butter supply." He said after he finished with a text and replaced his phone in his jacket. He smiled and held out his hand. "Wilhelm Lehrer, as you know; and this is my wife, Dr. Amelia Lehrer."</p><p>"DI Greg Lestrade," He motioned to Isabelle. "Sergeant Isabelle Bordeaux of Scotland Yard. We like to ask you a few questions."</p><p>"Have we done something?" Amelia asked. Her voice was full of concern and confusion. As far as she could tell, they had not broken any laws of the land, intentionally or otherwise. There was a certain furrow of the brow that caught Isabelle's attention and drew her to other aspects of the American woman's stance. A slight shift in the feet, squaring of the shoulders, a cock in the head</p><p>"No," Lestrade assured her. "We simply want your expertise on something. We understand you previously worked with criminal profiling."</p><p>"Ask away." Wilhelm waved his hands giving the all clear. Neither he nor his wife were surprised by them knowing his previous work.</p><p>Lestrade held out his hand to Isabelle who gave him the manila envelope with the autopsy photographs. "We were hoping you could help with an ongoing investigation."</p><p>"Fair warning, I haven't been involved in a legal investigation in years." Wilhelm remarked as he placed his reading glasses on his nose. "Not since I retired from . . . "</p><p>His next words were lost to silence as he looked at the picture that Lestrade held out. Wilhelm gaped, his breath hitched and Amelia looked away, her face hardened with disgust. The picture was of Annie Moore's back, laden with all the cuts and gashes. Seeing some color drain from Wilhelm's face, Lestrade mercifully put away the picture.</p><p>"The stuff of nightmares." Amelia quietly whispered to Wilhelm. He knew exactly what she meant.</p><p>"Perhaps this would be better somewhere more private." The Detective Inspector suggested.</p><p>Wilhelm slowly nodded, taking off his glasses. "We're finished here so we can go to the station, I need to see everything before I'm certain."</p><p>"Certain of what?" Isabelle asked.</p><p>"That you don't have a serial killer on your hands."</p><p>Lestrade mentally groaned - that was definitely something he did not want to hear.</p><p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p><p>She shuddered against the air. With a strained effort she tired to blow the strands of wet hair out of her face with little success.</p><p>As if to mock her situation another bout of water splashed against her face causing more of her hair to stick.</p><p>It was dreadfully cold; enough to cause her violently shudder again. At least the remnants of the dirt, blood and sweat were being rinsed away.</p><p>A click then a low hum.</p><p>With a deep breath she closed her eyes and waited for their next move.</p><p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p><p>Lestrade and Isabelle gave the American couple a ride to New Scotland Yard. They said nothing on the way over, looking vacantly out the windows. Isabelle surreptitiously check on her in the side-view mirror or turning in the car just so that to see them from her vantage point in the front. It was how she caught sight of Amelia reaching over to grab her husband's hand without either of them looking away from the window.</p><p>Amelia was the first to brake the strange silence just before they entered the station.</p><p>"I should sue Fate." </p><p>Wilhelm snorted a laugh and gave his wife a smile. "I promise to make it up to you."</p><p>"That's all well and good," Amelia sighed. Wilhelm draped an arm over her shoulders after they took off their jackets. "But I still want it out of Fate's pocket."</p><p>Isabelle smiled at the exchange between. She sneaked a glance at her boss who was smirking. They took the Americans to Lestrade's office and motioned them to sit in front of his desk. Lestrade placed the file of the autopsy report in front of them and sat himself. He watched them carefully as he took out his notepad from his jacket pocket.</p><p>"The first person who popped into my mind was Tomica." Wilhelm explained as he took a seat. His wife sat next to him and they unconsciously held hands again. "A very methodical serial killer with a strong view of how things should be in the world." Wilhelm perched reading glasses mid way down his nose and opened the file with his free hand, spending more time on the pictures than the written report looking at everything with a critical eye. There was a vague similarity to how Sherlock visually dissected something in Wilhelm's examination that Lestrade almost laughed.</p><p>"The methodology displayed on this victim's body and a few of Tomica's victims bear an interesting resemblance," He leaned back in his chair and looked to Lestrade. He pushed one picture forward; it was the autopsy photo of Annie Moore's back. "Which makes me lean towards a copy cat than the actually man himself; the pattern here along the spine is similar, but it is a little off. Tomica left very interesting marks on some of his victims' backs also along the spine; a series of cuts running parallel to the spinal cord; straight cuts interspersed with smaller slanted cuts. We knew that there was a pattern and my team deciphered that it was morse code."</p><p>"Are you saying he literately cut a message into their backs?" Lestrade wanted to be clear on what he was hearing as he took notes in his pad. Wilhelm nodded and Lestrade continued. "Did they actually say anything coherent?"</p><p>"It was mostly his philosophy or sometimes a mocking message for us." Wilhelm let go of Amelia's hand and rested his elbows on the chair's armrests, lacing his fingers together. Amelia now tucked her newly freed hand under her chin. "His philosophy was one of a perverted yin and yang view of the world, for every good act there must be a bad one; essentially the world must remain in balance and he was the one appointed by God to do so."</p><p>"So God appointed him to kill people." Isabelle made little effort to hide the disgust in her voice.</p><p>"No, God appointed him to keep balance – there's a difference. Killing people is just one method he employed. Psychological torture suited his needs just as well." Wilhelm adjusted the pictures in front of him to be more evenly stacked. "I can tell you of forty people in intensive psychological care he pushed to the edge and ruined without leaving a single mark on their bodies.</p><p>"Those forty are the only ones we could actually connect to Tomica. The ones that we simply suspected a connection committed suicide before we could confirm anything, but they all fit into the pattern of Tomica's attacks. His methods, to say the least, were resourceful.</p><p>"As my team learned more about his motivations we were able to conclude that Tomica was much more dangerous than we had originally profiled. He was very intelligent and he was stanch in his beliefs in his twisted vision of the world to the point of fanaticism - a dangerous combination." Wilhelm concluded thoughtfully.</p><p>"How is that a dangerous combination?" Isabelle asked.</p><p>"Ever hear of the saying, 'Faith can move mountains'?; it is Tomica's faith that drove him, motivated him. Because he believed that he was appointed by God he was not subjugated to the laws of man nor should he be obligated to listen to any authority figure of any sort.  It would not be a stretch to say that Tomica viewed himself as a vigilante for God. That with his intelligence and resourcefulness it made him difficult to pin down and stop."</p><p>"Why do you think that it's a copy cat and not Tomica himself?" Isabelle asked.</p><p>"Unless he made a deal with the Devil, it's unlikely he survived being shot in the chest and sucked under a strong current when he fell over a bridge. I like to think that his body has been subjugated to the ravages of time." Wilhelm stated. There was a cold flash in his eyes and his voice had an edge to it.</p><p>Amelia kept her eyes down to her feet. Tomica never brought out the best in her husband. Too much darkness that was well fought to stay at bay, and desired to be forgotten.</p><p>" 'Like to think'?" Lestrade picked up on that phrase.</p><p>"Tomica's body was never found." Wilhelm explained. "A large amount of blood was found along the riverbank a few miles downstream. The forenstic team believed that he tried to climb out but fell back into the water; the amount of blood found lead many to believe that his chances of survival were low.</p><p>"You shot him four times in the chest." Amelia pointed out looking up to Wilhelm. "I doubt if he survived that."</p><p>Wilhelm looked to his wife. "You and I both know that unless one is shot point blank in the head there is always a slim chance. Plus, no body was ever found." He turned back to the detectives. "But due to the inactivity since that point I see little reason to suspect Tomica. A man who believed as strongly as he did in his cause would not just stop."</p><p>"How similar are the injuries?" The detective asked. He noticed the hurt expressions passed between the couple; the original case must have been very hard on them both. He could appreciate that, what with the breakdown of his own marriage due to the pressures of the job.</p><p>"Close," Wilhelm looked away from Amelia. "At first glance it's easy to think that it's Tomica's work, but the pattern is sloppy. And look here," He pointed again to the picture of the victim's back. "It's cut to look like morse code, but it's not."</p><p>"You can read morse code?" Isabelle asked.</p><p>"Boy scout," Wilhelm shrugged. "Anyway, it's gibberish; they wanted to look similar to Tomica's victims. The FBI never released the morse code pattern cuts to the public; actually, come to think of it we didn't release detail information on the injuries, just that they were extensive; of course there are always those annoying people who call themselves journalists who are just looking for something sensational to sell papers that bribe their way to a few tidbits of information."</p><p>"Do you think that we could get a copy of those reports?" Lestrade requested.</p><p>"You would have to go to the current head of the department." Wilhelm leaned back. "The best I can offer you is to give my professional opinion and strongly suggest to them that they allow you access to the information. Given the state of the victim I doubt you will have any problems."</p><p>"We're happy to help you in any way that we can." Amelia smiled at Lestrade. She had not spoken in awhile causing Lestrade to almost forget her presence. It also caused Lestrade to look at Amelia, really look at her wearing that sweet smile.</p><p>There was something off about that smile. Lestrade would not go as far to say that the sentiment behind the smile was false, but the smile had the unfortunate air of being too well practiced. Almost like the smile one would find on the wives of politicians. Her eyes did not match her smile.</p><p>Considering what they had been discussing it did not surprise Lestrade that the American woman had become a bit stand offish and smile looked forced. But there was still something about her and her husband that Lestrade found curious; he decided to file it away in his mind until another time.</p><p>"Thank you, Mrs. Lehrer." Lestrade gave his own well practiced polite smile.</p><p>The exchanged polite 'good-bye' as Lestrade and Wilhelm shook hands. The couple shared a grim glace to each other as they gathered their things; it was a hard, nearly cold calculating glance.</p><p>There was suddenly a dreadful feeling that there was more to the Lehrers than people first assumed. Lestrade was not sure how to process that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wilhelm's lecture is quoted/paraphrase from a passage in 'Orthodoxy' by GK Chesterton. I could never claim such witty, thoughtful things as mine.</p><p>Chesterton is a very prolific English writer from the early twentieth century, writing everything from essays and articles to plays and novels. Completely underrated and absolutely brilliant; writers like Agatha Christie and Dorothy L Sayers were great admirers of his work and were influenced by it. On a random note, he wrote his own series of short story mysteries, 'The Father Brown Mysteries' in which he was one of the first to investigate the techniques of how a conclusion was found in the mystery and gave enough clues to let the reader figure out the mystery along with the detective. They are a good read so check them out! </p><p>Chesterton even wrote essays on Sherlock Holmes and the mystery genre in general. If you can find them I also recommend them for a good read.</p><p>The peanut butter bit is true. A friend of mine had his peanut butter confiscated at the airport because the consistency was the same as plastic explosive. You will now never look at your PBJ sandwiches the same way again. 😉</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Crime the Second</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A promise, a new body, and Sherlock surprises John and Lestrade.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This has to be one of the more challenging chapters to write; none of which would have been possible without the help of 'a wolf is a perfect paradox'. Thank you for your help, I don't think I could say that enough.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wilhelm valued silence. Something that had lingered with him since he was a young man living in a far too busy city with too much noise. Silence let him think, let him breath.</p><p>But the quietness that clung to the air in the Diogenes Club felt heavy and thick. He observed from the hallway the occupants in the sitting room and could probably decipher which state secrets were kept by whom and what scandal what hidden by others. A handful were asleep in their chairs. His general consensus - hard working bureaucratic politicians at rest, or at least trying to look at rest as they plotted and planned.</p><p>Not a really surprising conclusion when considering the Club he was in.</p><p>A few would look up from whatever they were doing to examine Wilhelm down their noses and over their newspapers. Granted Wilhelm did not look like much at the moment; his suit was simple and unimposing, and his hair was a bit ruffled by his hat which he had given to one of the attendants when he first walked in. He would nod a silent greeting to them and they would quickly look away as if ashamed to have been acknowledged by him.</p>
<p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p>An attendant finally appeared and motioned Wilhelm to follow him. After a moment of resisting the juvenile temptation of yelling '<em>Fire!</em>' just to see what would happen, Wilhelm followed the silent man to the visitor's lounge. The air there still felt heavy but not as thick if by the mere act of allowing of speech in the room gave it relief.</p>
  <p>He looked around at the furnishing of the room as he waited. He did not have to wait long before he heard the door creak open and close. He turned to face the new occupant of the room.</p>
  <p>Mycroft stood there, dressed in his bureaucratic best, looking as he always does – completely in control. Though, if Amelia was there she would probably smack Mycroft upside the head for not taking better care of himself. The signs, though subtle, were there; mostly it was his expression. He could convince people it was boredom but Wilhelm saw it for what it was – exhaustion.</p>
  <p>Having a hand in most governmental operations could do that to a person. Wilhelm did wonder if the job Mycroft had created for himself had become too much for him to handle or even bear.</p>
  <p>Wilhelm had the strange sense that he was looking at a form of a mirror image of himself. Since discovering that there was a possibility of a copy cat of his last FBI case he had been throwing himself into examining every single piece of evidence several times over, hoping to find something, anything, that could lead to a break in the case</p>
  <p>Mycroft looked over Wilhelm quickly before heading to the liquor table.</p>
  <p>"You look dreadful." He remarked pouring two scotches.</p>
  <p>"I was going for atrocious, but dreadful works." Wilhelm eased himself gingerly into a chair before completely releasing the tension in his body. He accepted the glass from Mycroft but made no move to drink any of the content.</p>
  <p>Mycroft sat across from him and waited. Wilhelm would speak when he was ready and not before. Past experience made Mycroft know better than to push.</p>
  <p>Wilhelm seemed lost in thought for awhile looking distantly at a wall before turning his sight to Mycroft. "How did that affair in Istanbul work out for you?"</p>
  <p>"It concluded satisfactorily with a few minor hiccups." There was not point in denying anything about the Istanbul affair to the Professor despite it being supposedly top secret and known to a few.</p>
  <p>"Good." Wilhelm took a sip from his glass lingering on the action and thinking about nothing except for dull burn of the alcohol.</p>
  <p>"How's your book?"</p>
  <p>"On hold at the moment." Wilhelm looked thoughtfully at his glass. "Amelia is a little disappointed that you won't be joining us for dinner." He leaned forward to rest is arms on his knees. "I need to extract a favor from you."</p>
  <p>"What do you need of me?" Mycroft asked without hesitation, though he had idea of what Wilhelm would ask him based on the phone conversation the two men had earlier that day. He told him about the surprising interview with Lestrade. Beneath the rather flippant manner in which Wilhelm spoke the underlining aspect of being shaken to the core was evident in his voice. By keeping tabs on his brother's first case with the police, Mycroft had heard of police seeking out Wilhelm. </p>
  <p>"Stop me - if it is <em>him</em>," Wilhelm looked up, still hunched over. "If I go too far."</p>
  <p>Such a request would make most men flinch at the implication, but Mycroft did not. Whether people wished to acknowledged it or not, everyone had darker impulses. The impulses were stronger in some and others had better control of them.</p>
  <p>Mycroft was one of the few people outside of a few of Wilhelm's old FBI partners and Amelia who knew the full extent of how Tomica affected Wilhelm.</p>
  <p>"Even if it isn't Tomica," Wilhelm leaned back into the chair, not really caring about proper sitting etiquette at the moment. "The simple implications of someone similar is going to stir up trouble in me. I hate the idea of my family being in danger from me."</p>
  <p>"And if it is Tomica?" Mycroft sipped his scotch.</p>
  <p>"If it is Tomica," Wilhelm mirthlessly laughed. "'I am a man, and therefore have all devils in my heart.' A sentiment you can understand, I'm sure."</p>
  <p>"I'll see what I can do for you." Mycroft felt uneasy. His suspicions were confirmed – Wilhelm was afraid. Whether the fear was of the possibility of Tomica's returns or of what Wilhelm would do when pushed too far was unclear.</p>
  <p>The whole situation was uncomfortable.</p>
  <p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p>
  <p>It was not difficult for him to ease her into the chair. She offered no resistance as her head lolled to the side as it hit the headrest. After a few shifts he was certain that she would not slide out or fall from her position. Satisfied with how she sat he moved her feet so her ankles crossed and draped her arms gracefully over those of the chair. He brushed the hair out of her face taking a moment to look at her face; it was a lovely face.</p>
  <p>He looked around the room; it was well lived in and showing the signs of only one person living there who only used the place to sleep, eat and repeat, often working through the day; maybe even through the night.</p>
  <p>Looking back at the seated girl, he smiled. His final touch a seal envelope placed in the lap of the girl. One last look over his work before turning to leave. No one would know that he was there.</p>
  <p>She really did have a lovely face; at least that was before the cuts and the dead milky eyes.</p>
  <p>It would be a few hours before the owner would return home. When the owner did he was tired from his long day at work. When he turned the key to the door all he wanted to do was to eat his takeaway. But, as with the rest of his day, his plans changed when he caught sight of his unexpected visitor.</p>
  <p>"Great." Lestrade mumbled as he holstered his gun. He noted the bloodied and ripped dress on the body but it was the patterned cuts on the face, arms and legs that really caught his attention.</p>
  <p>His home was a crime scene with a victim that he now strongly suspected to be connected with his current case.</p>
  <p>"Just great." He breathed reaching for his mobile and dialed his Sergeant.</p>
  <p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p>
  <p>"Something tells me that you didn't want to hear that." Isabelle remarked as John racked his hand through his hair then his face.</p>
  <p>"A possible serial killer?" John wanted to groan in frustration. Was it so awful to ask for a simple murder for Sherlock's first case back with the yard; that they might get back into the swing of things. Even the slightest whisper of 'serial killer' and the press would be all over it; it was sensationalistic news and the public wanted sensational and reporters would do their best to give it to them at any cost. The press was the last thing that John needed around Sherlock. The sight of Sherlock getting giddy at the mere mention of serial killer was too easily imagined.</p>
  <p>"That's just the preliminary and we're not certain the two deaths are connected, but Lestrade thought it best for Sherlock to have a look before the other consultant did." It always surprised Isabelle how people were so entranced by the concept of serial killers some even romanticizing the idea making everything from television shows to Jack the Ripper tours in London. Not her cup of tea. She looked around and noticed the lack of the other man. "Where is Sherlock anyway?"</p>
  <p>"Other consultant?" John wanted to make sure he heard that correctly.</p>
  <p>"Serial killers," Sherlock smirked as he rushed from his room. He had not heard their conversation. As John feared he was happily excited at the prospect. "They always keep things interesting."</p>
  <p>"Do you have any idea how unsettling that sounds?" John shook his head watching Sherlock shrug on his jacket.</p>
  <p>"Well, everybody's gotta have a hobby." Isabelle remarked sticking her hands in her coat pocket and looking quite nonchalant about it.</p>
  <p>John, so used to Sergeant Donovan from before the Fall, looked taken aback with how Isabelle brushed it off. As if sensing his thoughts, she looked to John and shrugged. At least she was taking Sherlock's strangeness in stride, one thing that John could be grateful about.</p>
  <p>"Give you guys a lift? Save on fare." She offered as she headed out the door.</p>
  <p>"Yes, thank you." John said before Sherlock could have the chance to say no.</p>
  <p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p>
  <p>"What do you mean 'other consultant'?" Sherlock demanded from the back seat sounding perturbed. "Also, why am I in the backseat?" And annoyed.</p>
  <p>"I don't trust you not to touch my radio settings." Isabelle deadpanned chancing a glance in the rearview mirror at him. "Chief Lucas thought with the severity of the case it might be good to bring on another set of eyes. You're not being kicked off the case, if that's what you're worried about."</p>
  <p>"There shouldn't be a need for another consultant." Sherlock hissed through his teeth. While annoyed that the back of the car did not have more room for his tall form. From what he gleamed from Isabelle, that was most likely the truer purpose for sticking him back there.</p>
  <p>"Well, ya know what they say – the more the merrier." Isabelle smiled into the rear-view mirror.</p>
  <p>"It can't hurt," John remarked almost glad he could not see Sherlock's face who was probably boring wholes in the back of his head for the statement.</p>
  <p>They reached their destination and Sherlock sprung from the car and closed the door with a little extra force than needed. He immediately went to the windows to examine them. Isabelle, doing her best not to laugh, quickly followed him to make sure he followed regulation. They knew he would but her actions were simply precautionary. Knowing that Sherlock would not want to be crowded as he worked and that he would not noticed his friend not there, John went inside.</p>
  <p>John had only been to Lestrade's home a handful of times. Lestrade had gotten it after he separated from his wife the first time and kept it through the years. Each time John had been by there was something else there that made it more personal and lived in.</p>
  <p>"Based on the autopsy photos, I would say that the marks are similar. I could venture to say by the same hand but it would be safer to say it's the same technique." John did not recognize the voice and looked over to see who was talking.</p>
  <p>Lestrade was standing next to the chair with the body with notebook in hand listening to a second man who was knelt next to the chair examining the body. He looked a bit older than Lestrade, but at the same time had that ageless quality about him; his dark hair graying at the temples and faint smile lines about his face. He wore reading spectacles perched on his nose that were not quite threatening to fall off. His gray eyes were his most remarkable feature, keen, observant, and clever to the verge of cunning as he examined the body in the chair.</p>
  <p>John felt the hackles stand up slightly on the back of his neck; having been a solider, his instincts reacted and his gut told him that the man kneeling before the body was more dangerous than he appeared. Lestrade nodded to John and then to the body, causing John to turn his focus to the victim.</p>
  <p>Unlike the first victim the body was posed and placed as if she had just fallen asleep in the chair. Her hair was loose with a few strands over her face that could simply be brushed aside with one motion; but that would reveal more of the empty eyes, clouded from death. Her dress was a mess with rips and blood stains that matched the damaged on her body.</p>
  <p>"Maybe even a medical background." The man added thoughtfully mostly to himself. "Did the first victim have chloroform burns around her mouth as well?"</p>
  <p>"Lestrade!" Sherlock exclaimed as he entered causing both John and Lestrade to cringe. They knew what was about to come from him. Isabelle trailed behind him with a neutral expression, wondering why John and Lestrade looked like they were waiting for an explosion to happen. "What's this about another consultant?"</p>
  <p>"Sherlock," Lestrade held up his hand in hopes that Sherlock would just shut his mouth long enough from him to explain. But Sherlock was not looking at him but at the other consultant.</p>
  <p>The older man just looked up to him over his glasses unfazed by the dramatic entrance. If John was not mistaken, there was a ghost of a smile on the bespectacled man's face.</p>
  <p>Both John and Lestrade waited for Sherlock to say something to insult the new consultant and push him off the case; John had his money on the other man leaving absolutely flustered and angry, maybe even tears if Sherlock pushed enough, and he could tell Lestrade was thinking along the same lines. However, Sherlock's face was set in an unreadable expression as he gazed down at the crouched man. It seemed that he was considering something. Coming to a decision, he knelt next to him.</p>
  <p>"What have you found?" Sherlock asked.</p>
  <p>"The tears in the dress do not match the majority of wounds on the body."</p>
  <p>"Ripped in an attempt to escape."</p>
  <p>"Unlikely, something like that would be more along the sleeves and shoulders. Look here, they're mostly around the abdomen. The strips of material removed from the skirt caught my attention."</p>
  <p>"Invoking the sense of vulnerability."</p>
  <p>"That was what I was thinking; same with the lack of shoes."</p>
  <p>"But she's wearing shoes," John remarked looking at the victim's feet.</p>
  <p>The two consultants now looked at John as they both stood up. There was an eerie similarity in their gaze that John had to blink a few times to be sure he was not seeing things.</p>
  <p>"Wrong size." Sherlock stated.</p>
  <p>"And the style of the shoes doesn't match that of the dress." The other consultant added pointing to the shoes.</p>
  <p>"Wait a moment!" John demanded. Something in his brain clicked and he saw it. "Do you know each other?"</p>
  <p>A phone rang. The timing of the phone call amused Lestrade, annoyed Sherlock and surprised John.</p>
  <p>"Excuse me," The new consultant left to answer his phone and immediately began speaking in what sounded like French.</p>
  <p>"So you know him?" John asked.</p>
  <p>"Yes." Sherlock turned back to the body.</p>
  <p>"You're willing to work with him?" Lestrade was in slight shock.</p>
  <p>"Yes."</p>
  <p>"Who is he?" John wanted more than a one worded answers.</p>
  <p>"Wilhelm Lehrer." He had returned just finishing his phone call. "I'm sorry for the lack of a proper introduction." He held his hand out to John. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Watson."</p>
  <p>John did not shake his hand but stared at Sherlock. "So another person you haven't told me about."</p>
  <p>"Dr. Lehrer provided valuable resources while I was looking for the remainder of Moriarty's organization." Sherlock explained noting the tension in John's stance and the frustration in his voice.</p>
  <p>Even Lestrade noticed the snub from John to Wilhelm. Most of the time Lestrade relied on John to keep Sherlock in tow, to be the one to apologize when Sherlock was rude, and now things were in reverse.</p>
  <p>Definitely not a good sign.</p>
  <p>"What resources could he possibly provide that you couldn't get from Mycroft?" John pushed. He was tired of the secrets that Sherlock was keeping from him. And a bit angry to be quite honest. There was a gnawing feeling in his gut that maybe Sherlock truly did consider him useless in his consulting work, thus went to others for help.</p>
  <p>"I'm retired criminal analyst for the FBI in the Behavioral Science Unit." Wilhelm interjected to keep the argument from going any further. "I psychologically analyzed crime scenes to find the perpetrator; which is a very fancy way of saying I use the state of the crime scene and victim to figure out the identity of the bad guy; or at least personality type. I happen to be in the country when this happened; since I worked a case that had a similar methodology it's believed that I might provide some insight. As to Moriarty, I knew people that knew people."</p>
  <p>"Not that this isn't interesting, but can we get back on point?" Lestrade asked. He did not know what set off John, but he caught his Sergeant's eye who shrugged. She had called it when she noticed that Sherlock was a bit distracted from his work.</p>
  <p>"Do you think that the same person did this?" John asked. For the moment he decided to wait to talk with Sherlock about whatever else he may have hidden from him. "From your case?"</p>
  <p>"All I will say at this point is that it's similar method, but I'm still unclear with anything else." Wilhelm sighed.</p>
  <p>"You were saying about shoes." Lestrade motioned to the victim's feet, sense a calm before the storm between the two friends.</p>
  <p>"Half a size too small and too narrow." Sherlock stated. He turned away from John and kept his eyes on Lestrade. "The feet were forced in."</p>
  <p>"Broken before being forced in." Wilhelm added as he pointed to the feet. "You can tell by her legs she was an avid runner. Lestrade has told me that you already deduced that the injuries correspond with aspects of the victim's life. Broken feet and ill-fitted shoes, difficult to run with those."</p>
  <p>"She was a person of decorous taste," Sherlock added; almost not wanting to be outdone by Wilhelm. "Her manner of clothing is considered modest, covering most of her body. Having so much skin exposed would make her apprehensive."</p>
  <p>"Think of a small child using a blanket to cover his head as a shield against the things that go bump in the night." Wilhelm said glancing over to Lestrade and John. Sherlock frowned at the interruption. Wilhelm only shrugged at Sherlock's reaction.</p>
  <p>"It was the first step of torture." Sherlock continued. "Mild discomfort then to more – "</p>
  <p>"And that's where it get's graphic." Wilhelm, again, interrupted Sherlock, but with a bit more force than necessary with an undercurrent of warning. "To be discussed later."</p>
  <p>"Like a lot of other things." John muttered under his breath. He did not care if anyone heard him. Fortunately the intended target, Sherlock was the only one who did. Wilhelm did notice Sherlock slightly bristle as he slowly turned so he could glare at Wilhelm.</p>
  <p>"Did you look at the windows?" Wilhelm asked his tone switched from warning to curious. He had taken great care in observing the interaction between Sherlock and John. Having never the doctor, Wilhelm was curious about John, the best friend of his daughter's brother. One need not be a genius to notice the tight tension that descended between the two. He made a mental note to talk with Sherlock later. "I haven't had the chance."</p>
  <p>"Markings – all of them placed to infer a break in." Sherlock sighed.</p>
  <p>"What do you mean 'infer'?" Lestrade demanded.</p>
  <p>"Look at the lack of disturbance with the objects around the windows." Wilhelm motioned towards the windows that Sherlock had examined outside.</p>
  <p>"They could have put everything back where it was." Isabelle pointed out.</p>
  <p>"True," Wilhelm walked over to the windows and looked closely to the table underneath. "But there's only one problem with that theory. The dust."</p>
  <p>"Sorry?" John had to take a moment to makes sure that it was actually Wilhelm that remarked about the dust and not Sherlock. It was too much of a Sherlock response to be actually coming out of the other consultant's mouth.</p>
  <p>"As with most people who spend most of their time working," Sherlock jumped in. "Dusting their residence is not a priority. You, what – dust once a week if you're lucky."</p>
  <p>"When I can." Lestrade was still waiting for an explanation. He was not ashamed of his busy lifestyle or home but he wanted Sherlock to get to his point.</p>
  <p>"The dust isn't disturbed around the area set up to look like the point of entry." Sherlock went on looking at John and Lestrade. It was almost like he was trying to avoid looking at Wilhelm. John noticed that he had stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. This was an annoyed, but calm Sherlock; something that did not sit right with John, another item to his ever grown list.</p>
  <p>Sherlock would have been moving about examining everything. Then quickly going through every single thing he found relevant to the case at hand. The possibility of a serial killer would have made him hum with energy that Sherlock could not wait to burn running about the city.</p>
  <p>But that was before the Fall. John understood that people change and Sherlock went through a lot over those three years, but it did not stop John feeling a bit alienated from his best friend.</p>
  <p>"But why even bother to create a false entry?" Lestrade asked Sherlock, snapping John out of his thoughts. "That's spending more time than necessary at the crime scene."</p>
  <p>"To hide something." Wilhelm had slipped away and was looking intently at the floor in the hallway. "I don't know wha-"</p>
  <p>"The sophistication of the entry." Sherlock interrupted. "Hiding the <em>modus operandi</em> leading to wasted time investigating false leads."</p>
  <p>"Or it could be as simply hiding the identity of the perpetrator." Wilhelm remarked, still in the hallway. He had one arm across his chest supporting the other elbow with a hand to his face resting his chin on the thumb and forefinger against his face. "Or maybe to could be as ridiculous as the perpetrator wanting to screw us over."</p>
  <p>"Either way, it's risky." Lestrade pointed out.</p>
  <p>"And a bit taunting when you think about it." Isabelle spoke up finally. She rubbed the back of her neck hoping to get the stiffness out. It had been a long day without stop and now it looked like it was going to be a long night without reprieve.</p>
  <p>The men turned to look at her. John had almost had forgotten her presence since she was so quite; he was sure he was not the only one to do so. When Isabelle noticed that everyone was looking at her, she removed her hand from her neck and continued on.</p>
  <p>"Well, no matter the reason for staying longer than necessary, he spent more time here, he didn't rush." She explained. "I mean, he even tuck some hair behind her ear after he put her here. He's not afraid of behind caught and it's almost as though he's flaunting it subtly but still in our faces."</p>
  <p>"Well put." Wilhelm nodded slowly as he thought over Isabelle's remark. "Overconfidence, something that can be exploited."</p>
  <p>They finished going over the crime scene and Sherlock dashed off to catch a taxi. John suspected that Sherlock did not want to be cramped in the back seat of Isabelle's car.</p>
  <p>He wanted to stay and question the American consultant. John wanted to demand how he knew Sherlock, how they met, why they worked together, how was it possible that he could contribute to Sherlock's mission, what he meant by 'knew people'.</p>
  <p>John spent a bit of time observing Wilhelm who was observing everything as Lestrade and Isabelle discussed a few details of wrapping up there. It was Wilhelm who caught John looking at him; he was not surprised by John's scrutiny, in fact he was quite at ease with it. Instead of saying something, Wilhelm waited on John to make the next move.</p>
  <p>It would be incorrect to say that John lost his nerve to demand answers from Wilhelm. But under the American's infuriatingly patient gaze, he realized that this was neither the place nor the time, no matter how much he wanted answers. A woman was dead, killed in an awful fashion.</p>
  <p>Without giving any acknowledgment to Wilhelm, John turned on his heel and walked out.</p>
  <p>As he followed his friend he wanted to demand a full story of Sherlock's trek across the world – more things happened then just him destroying Moriarty's organization. Things that Sherlock had never offered to tell him, and John found that it more than a punch to the stomach.</p>
  <p>But Sherlock was now very involved in the current case, as evident of him typing away on his phone as they both climbed into a taxi, that John probably would not get a full explanation. But John was beginning to realize that he could only wait for so long. Well, maybe no longer.</p>
  <p>With a deep breath of determination John faced Sherlock.</p>
  <p>"We need to talk."</p>
  <p>Movement over the phone screen stilled; any confidence and ease Sherlock had while at the crime scene melted into dread as he lowered his phone.</p>
  <p>The unavoidable moment had come.</p>
  <p>Back at Lestrade's home said owner looked around and the facts of everything that had transpired were finally sinking in.</p>
  <p>His home was a crime scene.</p>
  <p>"Does this effect your involvement in the case?" Isabelle asked as she approached him. Thankfully they were out of earshot of everyone else.</p>
  <p>"If anything they'll just be more scrupulous in watching over my actions." Lestrade breathed in deeply and let it out slowly in an attempt to stay focused. "I'll see this to the end; we both will."</p>
  <p>"Any idea where you're going to stay?"</p>
  <p>"Haven't really thought that far." Lestrade confessed; he had been so focus on getting the scene secured. There was also a part of him that did not want to dwell on the fact that his home had been broken into and used as a body dump.</p>
  <p>"No one really does." Wilhelm said causing Lestrade and Isabelle to jump at his sudden presence. "I'm sure your superintendent is making arrangements."</p>
  <p>"Now when you said 'know people'. . ." Isabelle left her statement open ended for Wilhelm.</p>
  <p>He smiled. "Criminal informants; I'm sure you've used a few in your career." He glanced at his phone as it rang. "Speaking of superiors. Excuse me." He put the phone to his ear. "Dr. Cuddleback, I have a perfectly good explanation as to why I have requested to withdraw myself from the lecture tour and it is a fascinating story."</p>
  <p>"I'm getting eccentric genius vibe from him." Isabelle remarked after Wilhelm walked away. "Maybe a dash of insanity. What about you?"</p>
  <p>"If he can help us like Lucas believes I don't care." Lestrade, at this point, just wanted to sleep and find someplace to reheat his takeout that he had forgotten in the chaos.</p>
  <p>Despite the hunger pain developing in his stomach, he watched Lehrer as he chatted away. That strange feeling from before with the American's wife had returned. There was definitely something off about this couple and Lestrade resolved to keep a close eye on them and do a little digging on them.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope everyone is enjoying this story. Please leave a review and tell me what you think.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Argument Fallout</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Unspoken truths, secrets, half told lies.</p><p>Any and all of them can cause undue frustrations and lead to arguments.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for help on this chapter, you are amazing!</p><p>Without further ado, the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock did not want to talk about it. Why could John not understand that?</p><p>There was a possible serial killer running about London that needed apprehending. He did not have the time or the desire to explain Wilhelm or the others. It would take too much time to explain; time that needed to be used investigating. He had always understood before. Why did he not understand now?</p><p>It was an argument that needn't happen, but an argument that inevitably happened. It started, it stopped, then repeat; ever since the cab ride from Lestrade's home. It continued on and off through the night and on their way to St. Bart's; Sherlock wanted to review and compare the autopsy reports.</p><p>Sherlock watched as John walked away mumbling something about needing air. As John's form disappeared Sherlock felt something turn inside. He hated that feeling and it had increased in frequency since his return to London, though its meaning he could not place and this made him even more uncomfortable. He thought back to the previous night that was wasted with arguing and could not help but wonder if Sergeant Donovan had been right and he had finally began to push John away from him. The very thought made Sherlock very uncomfortable.</p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p>They somehow found themselves squared off across the kitchen table. Sherlock stood, readying himself to take the rest of John's anger. John leaned on one of the kitchen chairs, mostly to give his hands something to do as to keep from hitting Sherlock; this time he would aim for the mouth.</p>
  <p>"How did you even meet all these people?" John demanded. "And these people seem to very conveniently provide you with aid. Mycroft, I don't like but, I understand; but what could they do that he couldn't? Why couldn't you – "</p>
  <p>He stopped and his breath hitched out of anger. His knuckled whiten as he gripped the back of the chair tighter. The unspoken question hung in the air.</p>
  <p>Why couldn't you come to me for help?</p>
  <p>"You were gone three years!" John began again, almost hissing the statement out.</p>
  <p>"I acutely aware of the length of time." Sherlock snapped back defensively.</p>
  <p>"Three damn years I thought you were dead." John pushed through determined to finish what he wanted to say before without Sherlock interrupting him. Anything that John might have held back was released with a vengeance. "Three years I grieved felt guilty over our last conversation. Thinking over and over everything, wondering what the Hell I could have done differently to stop you from jumping."</p>
  <p>"I couldn't come back until it was finished." Sherlock repeated again for that argument. "I wanted to return as fast as possible."</p>
  <p>"You keep saying that, but it doesn't mean anything!"</p>
  <p>"It means it was too dangerous for me to return."</p>
  <p>"For who? You?"</p>
  <p>"For you, John!" Sherlock snapped, practically yelling.</p>
  <p>It was a desperate yell, almost pleading. So completely out of character that it caused both men to pause. They stared at each other as though they were seeing, really seeing, each other for the first time. But that desperate plead did nothing to ease the anger in John</p>
  <p>"I can take care of myself." John was no longer yelling in volume, but his tone made up for it.</p>
  <p>"The danger was too great for you." Sherlock stressed, sounding drained. "I couldn't risk you."</p>
  <p>"Ever thought I was willing to risk it to help you?" John demanded angrily as he pushed the chair away. It clacked against the ground and the sound seemed to echo between the two men in their flat.</p>
  <p>In all honesty, Sherlock had not. He just wanted to keep John safe. He wanted to keep them all safe. Surely John, of all people, who struggled and had killed to keep Sherlock safe could understand this. And yet, it nagged him that perhaps he had missed something vital. That perhaps there was something he could have done; something that ordinary people would know to do. It irked Sherlock as he tried to reason with John again.</p>
  <p>"Moriarty had very devoted organization, willing to follow his orders even after his death." Sherlock explained with as much patience as he could muster at the moment; he stared at the fallen chair. "Any mention of me being in London, even a whisper would have meant you dead."</p>
  <p>"Yet, somehow Mycroft knew more than me, and he betrayed you to Moriarty." John was unmoved by Sherlock's explanation. "You, as you ran about the world, seemed to have been able to spare a few moments to make some new friends. They seem to know you better than me, because obviously you don't trust me enough to tell me anything about them. You've been back a year Sherlock and not one single word."</p>
  <p>With that said John stalked to his room for the night leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts. Sherlock picked up the chair and set it right before sitting in it.</p>
  <p>He sat there the entirety of the night collecting his thoughts. He wanted to tell John everything; but as it had been pointed out to him before, it was not completely his story to tell.</p>
  <p>On the way to St. Bart's they had not spoken to each other. Once inside the mortuary there was a brief repetition of what was said the night before with a bit more bitterness in the voice but less yelling. After an hour of painful silence and unspoken accusations, John left. Fortunately Molly was not there to witness any of it.</p>
  <p>Swallowing down the lump that had developed in his throat Sherlock returned to the files on the table. He did not realize that the exchanged was witnessed by Wilhelm.</p>
  <p>The professor arrived just as the verbal blows began and he kept out of sight. He heard the frustration in both the men and he knew the source of the discontent between them. It was something that would soon need addressing.</p>
  <p>He allowed a few moments to allow Sherlock to regain his composure after John, knowing that the consultant would not want him to catch him in such a vulnerable state, before entering the room.</p>
  <p>They stared at each other, and said nothing.</p>
  <p>-<em>MHSHEH</em>-</p>
  <p>John was aggravated. No one could doubt that as he stormed through the hallways looking for a place to be alone and far from Sherlock.</p>
  <p>John stepped into an unused break-room and closed the door behind him. There was a deep urge to hit something or someone; not wanting any more problems he tried to calm by taking deep breaths. He thought he was alone until he heard something small and light hit the floor.</p>
  <p>There was a woman leaning over the side of her chair to pick up a pencil when John turned around. She had an open book in her lap in which she was sketching out random objects in the room. She was not what would be considered old, but she had passed gracefully from her youth without losing any of the youthful gleam in her eyes. Her dress was something that Mary would call chic and classy and her red hair, which was pinned up, was showing signs of white by her temple.</p>
  <p>"You alright?" She asked when she sat up and caught sight of John's expression. She sounded American judging by her accent.</p>
  <p>"Yeah, fine." John mentally cursed; of all the random rooms in the hospital he picked the one that was already occupied. The fact that she was American did not help, he had quite his fill of Americans at this point in time.</p>
  <p>"'Fine' as in actually 'fine' or 'fine' as in 'I'm really not, but I don't want to talk about it, especially with a stranger' fine?" She asked erasing a mark on a half finished sketch of the seldom used electric kettle that sat on the counter. "Based on how fidgety you are right now, I'm gonna go with the second option."</p>
  <p>Sighing in frustration, John faced the woman; he had to stop himself from snapping at her. "I don't want to be rude, but what it is to you?"</p>
  <p>She shrugged, closing her notebook and sliding the pencil into the spirals. Leaning back into the chair, she smiled to John. "You look stressed and worried. Sometimes talking helps."</p>
  <p>"We don't – "</p>
  <p>"Yes, we don't know each other at all," She gave a small laugh, not in mocking but more in understanding. "But talking of frivolous things can help distract us from whatever is worrying us and clear our heads so we can look at the worrisome thing with a tad bit more objective viewpoint. Besides, everybody needs someone to talk to."</p>
  <p>"'Us'" John noticed the plural, and felt a smile tug at his lips.</p>
  <p>She smiled. "I am a wife and a mother; worrying is part of the job description." She leaned back in her chair. She motioned to the chair next to her for him to sit down. "So, who stuck the burr under your saddle?"</p>
  <p>"Come again?" It took a moment for John to register what she said.</p>
  <p>"Who made you mad?" She rephrased her question, a small smile playing on her lips.</p>
  <p>John looked between her and the chair. He half laughed as he sat down. "Best friend being an idiot."</p>
  <p>"Yeah, that would stress anyone out. " She nodded. "Let me guess - your friend doesn't want you to worry so decided to keep you in the dark which only makes you worry even more because you know that there's something not being said. I take it you're a man who hates being kept out of the loop."</p>
  <p>"That's actually . . . spot on." He was completely surprised and taken back by the accuracy of her statement.</p>
  <p>She leaned against the arm of the chair towards him, looking as if she was telling him an important secret. "Let me give you a piece of advice from and old woman to a younger man."</p>
  <p>"You're not that old." The statement jumped out of John's mouth before he realized it.</p>
  <p>She laughed before John could utter an apology. "Old enough to have a grown child. But listen, as my dad told me, everyone, no matter what they got plastered on their wall, is a fool; the only time you're foolish is when you don't realize you're a fool."</p>
  <p>The idea of calling Sherlock a fool did bring a smile to John's face. There was a vague approachability to her that garnered an easy trust, if only to have a simple easy chat with.</p>
  <p>"I always thought that it was my dad's easy way of telling me that every human is fallible," The woman continued. "Not an excuse, of course, but a reason."</p>
  <p>"What about you?" John asked to be polite. "What are trying you trying to distract yourself from?"</p>
  <p>"The troubles of life in general." She sighed dramatically showing no real ire, leaning back in her chair. "Plus a vacation that didn't go as plan that has resulted in me waitin6g in a hospital waiting for my husband to finish speaking to the police. No, he wasn't arrested in case you were thinking about it."</p>
  <p>"He's talking to the police in a hospital?"</p>
  <p>"That's what I said when we got here."</p>
  <p>"I hope it's nothing too serious." It was a strange sense of ease of conversation with the woman. There was no pretense with her. Yet he could not help but worry for her and her husband, his instincts as a doctor shining through.</p>
  <p>"It's a curve-ball life has thrown at me," She smiled at John. "I just have to step up to the bat and hit it out of the park."</p>
  <p>John found himself talking with her for awhile and they talked about nothing just like she promised; he felt the anger in him dissipate with each moment. They never delve into any personal, as she promised they talked of frivolous things and it did get his mind off of Sherlock.</p>
  <p>"It was like drinking spiked mud, had a real earthy taste to it." She suddenly pulled out her phone form her jacket pocket which was vibrating as she and John were laughing. "My other half is requested my presence."</p>
  <p>She gathered her things, slipping her sketch book into her satchel before slinging it on her shoulder and draping her coat over her arm.</p>
  <p>"Remember, nothin' dries as quick as a tear." She said over her shoulder as she reached the door.</p>
  <p>"I think I know what you mean." He quickly stood as she turned the handle. "John."</p>
  <p>She turned back to him with the door opened. She smiled and nodded. "Hello John, I'm Amelia."</p>
  <p>"Thank you."</p>
  <p>"Have a good one, John." Amelia gave a wave before closing the door behind her.</p>
  <p>He sat back down thinking about his next move. He was not ready to face Sherlock just yet.</p>
  <p>A thought occurred and he pulled out his mobile. It had been awhile since he had talked to a friend and he hoped that she was in the country.</p>
  <p>
    <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
  </p>
  <p>She felt grasps, tugs and pulls on her with rough surface of the ground below her as she was moved across it.</p>
  <p>The mumbles of speech were hard for her ears to decipher, but the tone sounded angry and discontented. The words hissed in the air.</p>
  <p>Lifted, thrown to a chair and tied down; it was a pattern that she had grown familiar. She offered no assistance to the movements, she was too tired.</p>
  <p>But the sharp precise pains creepy along her arms, followed by a dull stinging, were new.</p>
  <p>A hand held her head forcefully still and the pain etched itself along the side of her face.</p>
  <p>She was too exhausted to react; too exhausted to fight; too exhausted to care. Her vision blurred as tears formed against her will.</p>
  <p>
    <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
  </p>
  <p>"What do you mean you haven't told him?" Wilhelm demanded once Sherlock had finished speaking. He had listened to Sherlock explain that he had not told anything to John about Wilhelm and his illicit affairs with the others. With that secret still in tow it was causing a great strain on their friendship as witnessed by him. "You've been back for over a year."</p>
  <p>"I've been waiting," Sherlock explained.</p>
  <p>"For what?" Wilhelm asked. "This isn't like you." It was true, they both knew. Sherlock like to share what he knew the moment he thought of it. It was unlike him to hold something back.</p>
  <p>"How is it not like me?" Sherlock bluffed, he always hated the way Wilhelm could read him so easily.</p>
  <p>"You don't keep secrets from John." Wilhelm said exasperated as one would with a stubborn child. "The rest of us, yes; but never your friend."</p>
  <p>"Is that part of your profile of me?" Sherlock laughed mirthlessly.</p>
  <p>"Not mine, but Elle's." Wilhelm said quickly before the conversation could deteriorate any further. He did not need to see Sherlock's face to know it was covered in subtle signs of surprise. "When I first taught Elle, I let her pick own subjects for practice; she chose you and Mycroft. She keeps them up-to-date."</p>
  <p>His sister used him as practice for profiling; Sherlock was not sure why it surprised him so, but it did. He and Mycroft were still inclined to underestimate her, despite knowing her capabilities. It was a bad habit they had developed. Amelia made the annoying, but accurate, observation that Enola would still forever be their younger sister at fourteen years old who they saw as needing to be protected. It was difficult for the brothers to see the young woman she grown into, probably because they missed her growing up. Amelia's conclusions could be most irksome. "What were her conclusions?"</p>
  <p>Wilhelm sighed. "You trust John Watson. When you discovered that fact about yourself you were frighten by it because trust entails a certain openness that you find appalling, or at least you did before you met him. You wanted to impress him and you worked hard to censor yourself in front of him for fear that you might scare him off. It now kills you to keep anything from him; including that little fact of a younger sister among other things. Was she wrong?"</p>
  <p>After a moment of thought Sherlock wanted to ask what else his sister said about him, but decided to shake his head. He thought he would learn more that way.</p>
  <p>"So hence my confusion on why you haven't told John anything about us; least of all that you've met us." Wilhelm leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. "What are you waiting for?"</p>
  <p>"I made a promise." Sherlock explained slowly. There was only a twinge of regret that Wilhelm did not divulge more into the profile.</p>
  <p>"I see," Things suddenly clicked for Wilhelm. "And?"</p>
  <p>"I'm waiting." Again stated.</p>
  <p>"For how long?"</p>
  <p>"Awhile."</p>
  <p>"That's a bit unusual."</p>
  <p>"What's unusual?" John asked when he entered the room. Wilhelm and Sherlock turned to look at him. He was calmer than when he left but there were traces of anger still visible in his face.</p>
  <p>"This whole affair." Wilhelm said spreading out his arms as if displaying something and wanted everyone to see. "Murders similar to my last FBI case just as I arrive in London, Sherlock being brought in as a consultant as well as me with none involved knowing our acquaintance with each other; it becomes curiouser and curiouser. One could say this is a case of coincidences."</p>
  <p>"But is it coincidence? Are there not subtle forces at work of which we know little? " Sherlock objected. "Amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events may be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be presented which may be striking and bizarre."</p>
  <p>Wilhelm laughed shaking his head. Sherlock always enjoyed disagreeing with him. "True, that is something to consider, but coincidences are nothing more than spiritual puns. What do you think, Dr. Watson?"</p>
  <p>"I hardly know." John confessed eying them both.</p>
  <p>"Now there's a look of mistrust." Wilhelm causally remarked pointing to John. He stood and collected his jacket from the back of his chair. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go convince one of my colleagues to fill my spot on this lecture circuit. I'll see you both later." He flipped his hat back onto his head then tipped it in farewell to both men.</p>
  <p>Wilhelm left and wondered where his wife had wondered off to.</p>
  <p>John and Sherlock were left now together, both unsure what to say next.</p>
  <p>"I'll be staying at Mary's tonight." John decided to say after a few false starts. "To clear my head if nothing else."</p>
  <p>"If that's what you need." Sherlock did his best not to show how shaken he was by John's decision. He was very much afraid of losing John's friendship, but he could not break his promise.</p>
  <p>John nodded. "Yeah, I think so." He wanted to push the thought that maybe, just maybe that there was so much distance had grown between them that it would never close again. But the feeling was too strong to be easily set aside.</p>
  <p>
    <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
  </p>
  <p>John now sat on a overstuffed couch that Mary had found at a bargain at her flat, resting his head back and staring at the ceiling just thinking over the recent events.</p>
  <p>Mary completely understood John's reasons for needed to stay and she gladly welcomed him. She was only sorry that she got caught up in a last minute something or other at work and would not be home until late. John did not mind and it gave him time to think.</p>
  <p>Ever since meeting the American woman John's thoughts found themselves dwelling on Ivy Meshle. Their first meeting was clearly imprinted on his mind, one could hardly forget getting coffee all over one's shirt. Even with that first impression, John found that Ivy was a very good listener, and in a time where everyone was telling what he should do, Ivy simply listen giving her thoughts only as needed or when he ran out of things to say. It was refreshing when everyone else had some sort of opinion on how he should live out his grief. He found out later from Lestrade that Ivy played a key role in getting evidence to the police to help prove the existence of Moriarty found by her employer.</p>
  <p>John met her again after that, this time no coffee spills, and he profusely thanked for her aid in clearing Sherlock's name. She smiled and they chatted for a bit before she had to go off and do something for Ragostin.</p>
  <p>"Could I email you?" John asked without thinking. He instantly regretted saying anything when Ivy turned back to face him. "Sorry, I -"</p>
  <p>"No, it's alright." She quickly assured him. "It's just not a request I get often." Ivy reached for one of Ragostin's cards and wrote on the back. "I don't check it often, but I always respond."</p>
  <p>Ivy gave the card to John; on the back was an email address. They parted on very good terms and she called back hoping that they would meet up again. John hoped for the same.</p>
  <p>They did email back and forth. She wrote of her travels with Ragostin, but never of her work. He wrote of his dull affairs of day to day life, but never of Sherlock. It was nice to be able to talk about things without people telling him what he should or should not do.</p>
  <p>Soon, they had unexpected run-ins that started with a smile and ended with coffee. Then it was texts letting John know she was in town and if he wanted to meet for coffee. He always said yes.</p>
  <p>Ivy was not often in London, nor did she stay long when she was there. The mere fact that she took the time from her busy schedule to meet and chat with him meant a lot to John.</p>
  <p>That visit was no different; Ivy was there, at the small, out of the way coffee shop with two cups sitting in front of her.</p>
  <p>"Who is she?" Ivy asked with a smile as John sat down without the preamble of a greeting.</p>
  <p>"What?" John was not quite sure what to do with that question. A sudden flash of memories of Sherlock noticing everything and anything in his head. It made his heart ache just a bit.</p>
  <p>"You've meet someone." She clarified. "You're practically beaming and there's a slight spring in your step that I haven't seen before. So, who is she?"</p>
  <p>"Mary." John smiled at the thought of her.</p>
  <p>"When did you meet?" Ivy found John's smile contagious and could not help but smile herself.</p>
  <p>John wasted no time recounting how he met Mary and Ivy eagerly listened to every detail of the story. Ivy asked about Mary's interests, hobbies and the like and John was happy to oblige. Time passed to quickly for them.</p>
  <p>"Careful, Dr. Watson." Ivy finished the remnants of her second cup.</p>
  <p>"Of what?" He still had a half a cup of his second and he swirled the contents around lazied.</p>
  <p>"By how you talk of her and the way you smile, I half expect next time we meet for coffee wedding bells will not be far off for you." Ivy replaced her cup on the table and crossed her arms. "She sounds different from your other girlfriends."</p>
  <p>"I don't know about marriage," John confessed. "But she makes me happy and I think I make her happy. What about you?"</p>
  <p>"What about me?"</p>
  <p>"Isn't there anyone in your life?" John asked leaning his crossed arms against the table.</p>
  <p>"No."</p>
  <p>"No?"</p>
  <p>"No." Ivy repeated with a smile. "My occupation does not lead itself easily to relationships. Odd hours, constant travel – it would be to difficult for the other person to bear."</p>
  <p>"You're really going to use that as an excuse?" John shook his head lightly not believing Ivy was actually hiding behind that.</p>
  <p>"Since it's a viable one – yes." Ivy sighed. Her phone rang as if to prove her point; she even pointed as she looked at John. "See."</p>
  <p>John laughed as Ivy read over the text. "It's still an excuse."</p>
  <p>"Again, still viable." She pocketed her phone and looked up with a smile. "Dr. Ragostin needs me to check out a lead for him. It was so good to see you again John."</p>
  <p>They stood and exchanged a friendly hug.</p>
  <p>"Take care of yourself Ivy."</p>
  <p>"To the best of my abilities."</p>
  <p>John felt guilty in the fact that it had been just over a year since he last saw or talked with Ivy. He was swept away by fervor that surrounded Sherlock's return and the slew of cases with the consulting detective that followed. She had been a good and kind friend to him throughout the time the detective was away, always making time for him and checking in on him. Mary had wanted to meet her ever since John first mentioned her and John found that he wanted them to know each other. Maybe the two women could grow to be friends.</p>
  <p>He wondered how Ivy was faring and hoped that she would response soon to his text.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Everyone is a little frustrated and things boil over. But don't worry - things will work out between the Baker Street boys. 😉</p><p>For those have asked, Enola will be appearing soon. The Enola as "Ivy" in the flashback was to hold everyone over until she appears in the present.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Further Investigations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>New things are learned as the case progresses, along with a few reflections.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Many thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for all the help! </p><p>Translations of non-English texts can be found in the hover text (just hover the mouse pointer over the words).</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Have you been living out of your office, Boss?" Isabelle asked as she entered Lestrade's office.</p><p>She found him sitting at his desk leaning back and staring at the ceiling with his hands laced behind his head. His shirt looked a bit rumpled and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Dark circles were beginning to form under his eyes.</p><p>Lestrade jumped a little when he heard Isabelle's voice; he was so deep in thought that he did not hear her open the door. Seeing that there was not an immediate emergency he breathed in deeply and racked his hands over his face.</p><p>They had delved head first into finding out about the second victim, everyone hoping that  with every new fact would bring them closer to finding the killer. However, each search and each lead seemed to prove more futile and fruitless than the last and it was slowly wearing Lestrade down.</p><p>"You alright?" Isabelle asked closing the door behind before making her way to her customary chair.</p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p>"I'll live." He said. "What do we have?"</p>
  <p>"Let's back up to the bit where you may or may not be living out of your office." Isabelle remarked dryly. It went without saying that she was growing concern for Lestrade's well being; she had seen many policemen in her few years beginning to act like this over a case, especially when the case had multiple bodies turned up. It only pushed the investigating team further and further off the deep end. Many found their way into a bottle and few got out. "You can only switch between two different shirts so many times before people notice."</p>
  <p>"Bordeaux." Lestrade warned halfheartedly. The lack of sleep was peeking through his words.</p>
  <p>"Boss," Isabelle was undeterred and waited for his answer.</p>
  <p>"I do have a hotel room while my home is being processed." He considered and answered. When she was determined to find out something there was no stopping her.</p>
  <p>"And you've been making great use of it." She deadpanned. "Of course if not the hotel I hear there's a flat available at 221 Baker Street if you don't want to stay at the hotel. I think it's the C flat that's empty."</p>
  <p>That remark earned her a glare from Lestrade, but she only bore her incorrigible bright smile.</p>
  <p>Lestrade cleared a throat. "Moving on."</p>
  <p>"At least you're smiling." She pointed out.</p>
  <p>"What do we have?" Lestrade repeated his question with less gruffness. He did appreciate her attempts to lighten the mood.</p>
  <p>"Second victim's name Julia Roberts," Isabelle began listing off the facts. They had made a habit of reviewing whatever evidence that they had collected thus far. It allowed them to know that they both were aware of the same facts and to keep those facts straight. "Based on the styles of torture methods we can safely assume that it's the same killer or killers at work.</p>
  <p>"Twenty-seven, in no romantic relationship," She continued. "Was an interior designer, in business with her older sister and her brother-in-law, Tom and Michelle Burns. Julia and Michelle were the front of the business, did all the decorating; Tom Burns worked as the manager, dealt with vendors - back of the business. A nice family business that supported them all rather well."</p>
  <p>"Tell me about the Burns." Lestrade requested.</p>
  <p>"Um," Isabelle looked down to her notes. "Married ten years with a seven year old boy, no arrest records, domestic complaints, not even a parking ticket - by all accounts stable house and home. Neighbors all same they same about them and the vic."</p>
  <p>"Very well liked." Lestrade ventured knowingly.</p>
  <p>Isabelle nodded. "Mrs. Burns said that her sister was the sweetest person you could ever meet and wouldn't even hurt a fly."</p>
  <p>Lestrade sighed. "I'm really not liking where this is headed."</p>
  <p>"That the killer's victim type are genuinely nice, good people." Isabelle said exactly what was on his mind. Nice people, kind people, the type of person who would stop to help, who would be taken in by a ruse.</p>
  <p>"You've heard from Sherlock?" He asked, only because he had not himself.</p>
  <p>"No, not since he left your house with Watson." She shook her head. "Should I have Boss?"</p>
  <p>"Just me know if he contacts you." Lestrade requested before returning to the paperwork on his desk. But inside his mind was twirling; it was so unlike Sherlock not to be in touch in some fashion, or at the very least John. Isabelle's words about things not being good between them and he hoped that something had not come to pass.</p>
  <p>"Does this have something to do with Dr. Lehrer and Holmes knowing each other?" She asked. "Or how Watson reacted when he learned about it?"</p>
  <p>Lestrade now gave his Sergeant a warning look not to push too far.</p>
  <p>"I'm not blind Boss," She defended softly, but decided to move on to another subject. "According to her date book she had an appointment on the day she was taken. Shall I arrange a meeting?"</p>
  <p>"Yes." His answer was a little curt, but that was to be expected and not aimed at her; the entire affair was stressful.</p>
  <p>
    <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
  </p>
  <p>"So we have an office manager and an interior designer." Amelia placed the filed side by side on the coffee table. With the current case with the police Amelia thought it best to move into one of their safe-houses for the duration of their stay; the hotel room they had would not have suited their purposes. They now sat comfortably in the sitting room with already cooled coffee on the table; she sat on the couch and he sat in a table he pulled up to the table. Wilhelm was hunched over the table scribbling away notes in his notepad. "They've never met, no similar acquaintances, did not take the same route to work, businesses never interacted, and had not similar hobbies. This is gonna be a headache."</p>
  <p>"Yes." Wilhelm said as he looked over the autopsy report of the second victim. His mind was contemplating multiple things causing his answer to sound distant and distracted.</p>
  <p>Amelia peered over to her husband; she knew that he was only half paying attention to her. He had often got like that whenever he was researching or writing. It also brought back memories of Wilhelm's days in the FBI. She had to smile at the fact that some things never change in a person no matter the passage of time.</p>
  <p>"Find any thing?" She asked poking him softly in the shoulder until her looked up to her.</p>
  <p>"I find it odd." Wilhelm remarked, slumping back into the chair his brows furrowed in thought.</p>
  <p>"Find what odd?"</p>
  <p>"The timing." Wilhelm slid his glasses off his nose before looking at Amelia. "Don't you?"</p>
  <p>"That these unfortunate familiar methodical killings began just as you arrived in London for a scheduled lecture tour – yes, I do." Amelia sighed. "As you said, a bullet to the head is the only sure way."</p>
  <p>"Yes it is." He returned to the reports, replacing the glasses on his face. A darkness passed over his face and then it was gone as quickly as it came.</p>
  <p>Amelia remembered back to when they had first met. She did not trust him back then, yet somehow he completely intrigued her and made her smile. The way he saw the world and how he explained what he saw was different. He once took her to a museum that she had been to a dozen times before and brought out new thoughts and appreciation for art that she thought she had memorized thoroughly.</p>
  <p>Watching Wilhelm think, how he processed things had never ceased to amaze her; not even when his thoughts became too much like the perpetrators he hunted.</p>
  <p>There is a strange sensation that creeps over the skin when a draft blows by or when a person from behind stands too close for comfort. The kind that causes the skin to prickle, the hair to stand and the muscle to tense.</p>
  <p>It was that sensation that washed over Amelia as Wilhelm spoke his last statement. She watch him study the autopsy and other police reports. She did not have to wait long for the sense of dread to hit her stomach.</p>
  <p>Amelia was no stranger to these feelings. She felt them once before years ago and she had hoped she would never feel them again.</p>
  <p>Ah, wishful thinking.</p>
  <p>
    <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
  </p>
  <p>Jonathan Wild was an Auctioneer and Valuer; once in a while he dealt with actual sales of items with clientele who had more money then they knew what to with. He was extremely tall and thin and his two eyes were deeply sunken in his head; clean shaven, pale, and some what ascetic-looking. Even though he had no characteristics of it, Isabelle could not help but compare him to a villain from a cartoon she watched as a child, a rat pretending to be a mouse but ultimately failing.</p>
  <p>To be fair it might have been he smiled a bit too broadly when he greeted her and Lestrade as they arrived and that much cheerfulness tended to put her on guard. He might be a perfectly charming man and considered attractive.</p>
  <p>"I met Ms Roberts about a month and half ago, almost two." Wild explained. They had gathered into his office; he sat at his desk and they sat in chairs in front of it. "She called me wanting to know if I could get my hands on a certain settee for a client of her's who was rather insistent about it. Nice girl, sorry to hear what happen to her."</p>
  <p>"Was it just the one transaction?" Lestrade asked.</p>
  <p>"I found her other pieces, so we worked together a few times." Wild leaned back into his chair. "Went to a few auctions together but nothing really outside of that."</p>
  <p>"Did you notice anything odd?"</p>
  <p>"Odd how?"</p>
  <p>Lestrade gave a noncommittal shrug. "Witness a harsh argument she might have had on the phone or with a person, notice a strange person multiple times around her, moments where she might have been overly nervous or distracted – things like that."</p>
  <p>Wild thought but ultimately shook his head. "While I didn't know her that well I'm comfortable saying she seemed to be a very happy person; all smiles, no bad days."</p>
  <p>"Tell me about your last meeting with her." Lestrade requested.</p>
  <p>"It was here in this office. We had just acquire a lot of furniture at a reasonable price and we were finishing the last bits of paperwork. She wrote a check for my services before she left." Wild listed off. "I even walked her to the door. Nothing too interesting."</p>
  <p>Lestrade finished scribbling out a note and looked up to Wild. "If there's anything you can think of, give us a call." He held out a card with contact information.</p>
  <p>Wild took the card; he briefly glanced at it before putting on top of the desk. "Sorry I couldn't have been more helpful."</p>
  <p>After the customary pleasantries were exchanged Isabelle and Lestrade headed back to his car.</p>
  <p>"Why didn't you mention he was most likely the last person to see her alive?" Isabelle asked once the car doors were shut.</p>
  <p>Lestrade started the engine. "A hunch, I suppose. There's something I can't place, but it feels off."</p>
  <p>"Do you think he's hiding something, Boss?"</p>
  <p>"I know he's hiding something, everybody had something to hide; I'm just not sure if it's relevant to the case or not."</p>
  <p>
    <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
  </p>
  <p>"Talk to me Shaw." Isabelle commanded as she entered the forensic lab. She was not in a good mood; she had an argument with her boyfriend via the phone and it ended on a draw that felt like a low note. An extremely low note. Their long distance relationship was having a toll on both of them. As such was her mood that she took the extra effort to time her visit so she would not be there with Anderson.</p>
  <p>It was her one of her early cases under Lestrade and her acquaintance with Anderson started off on the wrong foot. The body was still cooling, hunched over on the kitchen table and the blood just beginning to coagulate around the head and most of the officers there were ready to write it off as a suicide, but Isabelle was not convinced.</p>
  <p>She offhandedly remarked that the fatal cut on the throat did not seem right to Lestrade and Anderson happened to overhear. He sneered as she spoke.</p>
  <p>
    <em>"Oh don't pretend you worked that out!" He said budding in on the detectives' conversation. He turned to Lestrade. "We don't need another one."</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em><span>"Gar-ici,"</span> She snapped at Anderson, falling into her Cajun as her temper rose. He had already disregarded her due to her youth on her last few cases and she had enough from him. "I honestly do not understand why you are dead set against me, I've been nothing but courteous towards everyone including you since I've arrived. If I have done something to offend you let me know so I can make amends, if not shut it. If I notice something that doesn't fit I'm going to mention it; and right now that cut on the throat doesn't fit with suicide."</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"The knife is in his hand, the blood patter indicates he was holding it as the deed was done." Anderson pointed out. His body language and tone were superior, as if daring her to prove him wrong.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"Tentative wounds." Isabelle stated. "There are none, I've checked; most suicides would want to test the effectiveness of what they were using."</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"That doesn't automatically mean foul play."</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"But it merits a closer look." She insisted.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"Alright." Lestrade said calmly. It surprised both of them and they looked at him.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"You're really not going to do this again?" Anderson was dumbstruck.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"Do what again?" Isabelle was still confused.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"She has an unsubstantiated hunch and you're going along with it." Anderson shook his head at Lestrade and ignored Isabelle. "It's a waste of time."</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em><span>"Je vais the passer une callotte."</span> Isabelle deadpanned to Anderson.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>He finally graced her with eye contact, abet an annoyed one. "What are you saying?"</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"Bordeaux, how certain are you?" Lestrade asked keeping his attentions on her. He had later admitted to her that he enjoyed ignoring Anderson.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"It's worth the extra look." She insisted.</em>
  </p>
  <p>And it was.</p>
  <p>Anderson was still fuming as the perpetrator was being hauled away to lockup. Since then Isabelle has never been on his good side. He had also failed to ever make it onto hers, not that she was heartbroken over it.</p>
  <p>She was fine with it, but it took a little extra effort on her part not to slap him for his stubbornness. At the time Anderson's behavior confused Isabelle and she could not understand why her observation gained her such a reaction. Looking back on it now the remark made much more sense; especially since she learned about the infamous consulting detective.</p>
  <p>Right now it was only Frank Shaw in the lab. He was a lean man with all the evidence of spending most of his time inside with his eyes glued to either a microscope or computer screen. A bit shy with a odd tendency to push up his glasses when they had not fallen. Shaw was one to always get to the point which somehow endeared him to Isabelle. That and he transferred to New Scotland Year a half a year before she arrived. He had joked once that they were the new kids on the block.</p>
  <p>Shaw was currently hunched over a test and was finishing it up as Isabelle walked in. He did not spare her a glance as he entered the last bits of information into the computer.</p>
  <p>"Where's Lestrade?" He asked finally looking over to her. He assumed that since it was his home the D.I. would opt to be present. The absence, quite frankly, surprised Shaw.</p>
  <p>"He's looking into something." She half lied; a bit too smoothly for her own taste. It seemed to her at times in England and especially London, there was much politics to be played. But that could be said of any big city. "Do you have anything?"</p>
  <p>"I've tested all the blood samples found at Lestrade's, all belong to the victim." Shaw began not wanting to get on Isabelle's bad side judging by her tone. Stories of the copier were mounting to legendary status at the Station. "Ran all the finger prints, most of them are Lestrade's, which you would expect. So far no hits on that, but I'm expanding the search to include other databases."</p>
  <p>"Trace evidence?" Isabelle busied herself taking note of everything Shaw was telling her.</p>
  <p>"Outside of the normal things found in a London home there were traces of dry sodium hydroxide along the hem of the dress." He pointed to the aforementioned article of clothing on the table now returned to the evidence bag.</p>
  <p>"Really?" She made note of the only connecting physical evidence between the victims. A solid link, not just methodologies. Sherlock had mentioned something in passing about looking into brand; it seemed crazy but she was learning to go with the flow with him. She noted to herself to mention to Sherlock to get a sample from Shaw when she saw him next.</p>
  <p>"Yes," He continued. "Also, based on the suggestion of Lestrade, I went back to Annie Moore and did a trace around her mouth, same with Julia Roberts. Both had remnants of chloroform around the mouth. Dr. Hooper confirmed with the chemical burns around Roberts' lips."</p>
  <p>Another physical link.</p>
  <p>"Why wasn't it noticed before?" Isabelle mostly asked herself.</p>
  <p>Shaw shrugged. "Not part of the basic tests for an autopsy. And perhaps it was hidden amongst all the injuries. That's something you would have to ask Dr. Hooper."</p>
  <p>Isabelle sighed and nodded. "Anything else?"</p>
  <p>"If there is, I'll text you."</p>
  <p>"Thanks Shaw." She pocketed her notepad and turned just to see Anderson returning. "Don't worry, I'm leaving." With that she quickly walked out before Anderson could say anything to her.</p>
  <p>
    <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
  </p>
  <p>"Dr. Watson?"</p>
  <p>John turned at the sound of his name and was greatly surprised by who had called him.</p>
  <p>"It's so good to see you again." Hatch took John's hand and shook it vigorously. Next to him was Tekla who had an equally happy expression on her face.</p>
  <p>"This is a surprise." John managed to get out without sounding too rude. He was not in the most ideal mood to deal with Sherlock's new friends. All things considered, he thought he was doing a decent job.</p>
  <p>"And a welcomed one." Tekla added with a bright smile. "I didn't realize you two had met."</p>
  <p>"We met when Carleton and I went over to Baker Street." Hatch explained. "I can't believe that I forgot to mention that."</p>
  <p>Tekla slapped him on the chest. He recoiled in mock pain before planting a kiss on her cheek. </p>
  <p>"Where's Sherlock?" She asked, looking expectantly around John.</p>
  <p>"Working." The answer was automatic and most likely true. John had not seen Sherlock since their fight.</p>
  <p>"Ah, when isn't he working? It's like his mind never stops." Hatch laughed and wrapped an arm around Tekla. "The case with the Yard keeping him busy?"</p>
  <p>"Quite a bit, yeah." It felt odd to John to be even talking to either of these people; but he could not figure out a way out of the situation besides just walking away. But even with that option they could simply follow him. "So what are you up to?"</p>
  <p>"We're being tourists." Tekla held up a well marked guide book. "Thought we would take in a few of the sights, see how many dumb American jokes pop up."</p>
  <p>"Then rate them on their accuracy." Hatch added.</p>
  <p>"So far we have a wide range of on the mark to completely off."</p>
  <p>"And it's breaking even."</p>
  <p>John looked back and forth between the two, unsure of how exactly he should respond to them. He had to admire them for well attuned they were with each other.</p>
  <p>"Well, that sounds . . . interesting," John smiled for lack of anything else to do. "I should really get going though – " He turned to leave.</p>
  <p>"Oh, we were hoping that we could convince you to have lunch with us." Tekla sounded a bit disappointed at the prospect of John leaving just as they had run into each other.</p>
  <p>"Get to know the man behind Sherlock's stories." Hatch said.</p>
  <p>The last remark gave John pause, his curiosity was peaked. An opportunity was now in front of him to discover what Sherlock had withheld from him, to learn more of what else he had done while chasing down Moriarty's organization. He put a smile on and turned back around. Hatch and Tekla were looking at him waiting for his answer with unassuming faces. "Lunch, you said?"</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know everyone is wondering where Enola is, but I promise she will arrive soon. </p><p>I honestly do not know what is part of a normal autopsy preformed by law enforcement in any county. So I just went with what worked for the story. Please forgive me for any inaccuracies.</p><p>Please let me know what you think.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Unexpected Visitor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A visitor to Lestrade's office turns the case on it's head. Hatch and Tekla are parents and John is unsure what to do about that.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Many thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' - what a trooper!</p>
<p>I meant to update this sooner! Sorry for the wait.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Walk with a purpose, and no one thinks twice.</p>
<p>Walk with head held high, and no one takes notice.</p>
<p>Walk with confidence, and no one would think you did not belong.</p>
<p>At least that's what she told herself in her overwrought mind. She was barely able to hold it together. She was slipping, it was getting harder to focus, to think.</p>
<p>There was a stiffness to her walk but her head was held high so no one took notice as she entered Scotland Yard. Not the guy at the reception, not the crime scene techs as they shared a joke, not the beat cop arriving with fresh donuts and coffee to enjoy as they faced the mundane task of writing up reports.</p>
<p>She knew where she needed to get to and made her way through the hallways. Part of her wondered why no one stopped her; the other part wanted to cry.</p>
<p>She walked to Lestrade's office without hesitation, opening the door without knocking. The Detective Inspector was there discussing the possible steps to be taken involving a case with Isabelle over coffee. He was surprised by the woman's presence in his office and noticed how disheveled she looked even with her hair covering most of her face.</p>
<p>"Can I help you?" Lestrade asked as he stood up. Concern immediately etched over his faces as he regarded the woman in front of him. At the same time he could not wonder if she was a threat, someone sent to do him and his Sergeant harm with how she stood and how she was gripping the door handle. It was too intense, too desperate.</p>
<p>Maybe she was, maybe she was not; things were getting to hard think. The girl nodded. She saw how his eyes widen in shock. Oh dear, he must have seem the blood she knew was plastered on her face. </p>
<p>"Would you like a seat?" Isabelle asked cautiously also standing. She did not see the blood, but there was caution and concern in her voice. The girl felt tears welling up - how long had it been she heard such sentiments. </p>
<p>The impact of the ground did not register in the girl's mind until she saw Lestrade and Isabelle over her; both wearing expression of worry, determination, and a bit of curiosity. Something soft was tucked under her head and her hair was gently pried away from her face. Maybe she could finally sleep without the threat of screams or new injuries.</p>
<p>Maybe it was finally safe to sleep. But she was too tired to care if it was not. But there was something she needed to tell them. What was it?</p>
<p>"Call an ambulance." She thought she heard Lestrade ordered as things went out of focus. Isabelle was already on the phone, if the blurry motion was anything to go by. </p>
<p>Sleep.</p>
<p>
  <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
</p>
<p>"So you're telling me that this woman was able to waltz right into the station and no one stopped her?" Lucas was talking that irritated calm one never wants to hear from the boss over his phone to the front desk. Lestrade sat in front of his chief's desk trying to understand what had just happened.</p>
<p>While waiting for the medics to appear the woman kept trying to say something to him. But her voice was too soft and garbled to make out anything definitive. The only thing that Lestrade was completely certain about was that she was afraid and in pain.</p>
<p>Isabelle went out briefly to find a first aid kit and while she was gone the woman pressed something into Lestrade's hand. He was so focused on keeping the woman calm that he did not look at the object until after she was in the hands of the medics.</p>
<p>It was a USB drive and it was now sitting on the edge of Lucas' desk.</p>
<p>"You have blood on your shirt." Lucas remarked after hanging up. He was right of course; most of, if not all, of the blotches were vaguely hand shaped from where the woman grabbed his shirt. He grimaced looking at it. Each pattern echo the fear that blazed in her unfocused eyes.</p>
<p>"I have a spare in my office." Lestrade said. It was a preemptive measure against coffee spills, and it was a practice that had served him well over the years.</p>
<p>"Alright then," Lucas took a deep breath before looking Lestrade straight in the eye. "Do you recognize this woman?" The Chief Superintendent began his line of questioning.</p>
<p>"To be honest I was more concern about her possibly dying." Lestrade sighed. "And she was so disheveled and covered in blood I doubt if anyone could recognize her in that state."</p>
<p>"From what I can gather she head directly to you - any idea why?" The answer was a shake of the head saying no. "And this?" He pointed to the USB drive, innocuously sitting at the edge of the desk with smears of blood on it's surface.</p>
<p>"It must be important to someone for that girl to end up like that." Lestrade looked up to Lucas who was considering his words. "As to what's on it – I don't know."</p>
<p>"Right," Lucas leaned back in his chair and raked his hand over his face as he thought. "Who do you trust in the IT department?"</p>
<p>"If we're looking for something to get data off that drive, Isabelle Bordeaux is rather handy with computers." Lestrade offered.</p>
<p>"Then this," Lucas motioned to the USB drive. " Stays between the three of us until we learn the significance of it. Do <em>not</em> tell Holmes or Watson about this."</p>
<p>"Yes sir." The detective nodded allowing his gaze to drift to the drive. Looking at the dried blood flakes on the drive Lestrade would not help but feel, as often had on this case, that he was opening Pandora's box.</p>
<p>
  <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
</p>
<p>"You are gravely mistaken." Sherlock repeated as he glared at Tekla. But his protestations fell on deaf ears as she smiled sweetly to him.</p>
<p>"No we're not." Hatch smirked as he pulled out his phone to take a picture. As he aimed Sherlock turned his attentions to him. Hatch only shrugged in response to Sherlock's glare. "Worth a thousand words." He added as way of explanation before snapping the button unapologetically .</p>
<p>John had seen and experienced many things in the company of Sherlock. But what he was currently viewing in the middle of the den John never expected.</p>
<p>Sherlock holding a baby. And the baby was not screaming his head off. The child actually looked quite happy in Sherlock's arms.</p>
<p>John definitely wanted copy of that picture. He could threaten to email a copy of it to all of Scotland Yard the next time Sherlock refused to behave.</p>
<p>"So what's he's name?" John asked.</p>
<p>He had come unexpectedly on their gathering; he had left his phone charger at Baker Street and the unexpected sounds of a baby hooked his curiosity and caused him to investigate further. He and Sherlock had come to an uneasy, unspoken truce shortly after his lunch with the Hatchersons. They agreed to wait to after the case to deal with the bad air between them. John understood that Sherlock needed to do well on his first case with the police if he hoped to gain further cases with them in the future. It was part of his livelihood - there was only so much he made on the private cases he took on.</p>
<p>He still had misgivings about this strange group of people proudly declaring themselves Sherlock's friends. Non of them gave a straight answer and John could not help but feel that they, including Sherlock, were hiding something. The lunch he had with the Hatchersons was both enlightening and frustrating. While they were delighted to talk with John, Hatch and Tekla never gave much details in regards to they occupations or how they met Sherlock. When asked how they all met they both smirked and said 'work'; which only served to confuse John since their occupations were so different.</p>
<p>This was what he had learned:</p>
<p>Hatch worked with computers, from designing computers to developing software; basically anything with a processor he worked with in some fashion. He took great pride and comfort in being described as a geek. John discovered that movie quotes were part of Hatch's day to day conversation. Unfortunately for John, most of the movies that Hatch quoted were ones that John had never seen or heard. That resulted in John being threatened with several movie nights by Hatch to remedy that slight handicap.</p>
<p>Despite his goofy demeanor Hatch truly was brilliant when it came to computers and code writing. His expertise in the field assisted Sherlock in cracking several cyberheist by Moriarty's organization.</p>
<p>Tekla was the opposite of her husband; she once joked that the only way she knew how to fix computers was to turn them off then on. As Sherlock explained before, she worked as an independent art appraiser, who contracted herself to different auction houses and to estate sales mostly in the States but recently branching out to Europe. She had an eye for catching a good forgery which benefited Sherlock in his chase. Tekla was also a flirt with all the smiles, winks and laughs that went with it. She was also an equal-opportunist flirt and no one was safe.</p>
<p>John thought the last bit would be a bit much for Hatch, after all, she did intensely snog Sherlock at a crime scene. But Hatch only laughed and said that Tekla's flirting served to amuse, bemuse and confuse. A statement that only left John more confused. But that had been nothing out of the ordinary lately he had to admit.</p>
<p>Hatch and Tekla as parents was difficult to perceive until you saw them with their son. They had an affectionate attention to the boy that was not nauseating to watch or done out of obligation. It was the most genuine behavior displayed by them that could not be faked.</p>
<p>Throughout lunch John could have sworn that they almost slipped up a few times and was about reveal more details, but then artfully covered it with another anecdote concerning something unrelated to Sherlock.</p>
<p>For all their vagueness, they were direct with how deeply they cared for Sherlock despite all their insistent teasing. That alleviated some of John's concerns, but not that much.</p>
<p>The Hatchersons were an odd couple, which could be said for many people these days, but nevertheless they were. And they were parents.</p>
<p>"Kilian Nicolas." Tekla said proudly.</p>
<p>"Interesting choice." Sherlock muttered. He kept his eyes on the child as though if he looked away Kilian might try something or it could be that Sherlock was afraid that he might drop him. It was a tossup really.</p>
<p>"It seemed fitting and it was the only name Tekla and I could agree on." Hatch took another pick since Sherlock was not longer sneering at him. "I think it's safe to say that Killian likes his Uncle Sherlock."</p>
<p>"I am not – "</p>
<p>"Yes you are." The Hatchersons cut off Sherlock's protestations. They said it as though it was the most obvious thing in the world and Sherlock was just being dumb for not realizing it.</p>
<p>John laughed. "Could I get a copy of that?" He pointed towards Hatch's phone.</p>
<p>"Done and done." Hatch grinned.</p>
<p>"Just please don't put it on your blog." Tekla requested as she relieved Sherlock of her son. "I don't want people to get the wrong idea."</p>
<p>"Of course." John nodded.</p>
<p>Kilian was a quite child, spending most of his time looking around at his surroundings and only became fussy when trying to find something new to examine. He often gave a toothless grin and snuggled close to whoever was holding him, even Sherlock.</p>
<p>"So, now that most of the prime suspects are in one city we need to have dinner together." Hatch announced looking at Sherlock. "You can't say any excuse that will convince us to let you out of it."</p>
<p>"The invite includes you John." Tekla smiled at him.</p>
<p>John gaped at her a moment before responding. "Sure – if I'm not intruding – "</p>
<p>"Absolutely not!" Tekla would not hear any protest. "We've wanted to do dinner with you guys since we've gotten to London. Just let us know whenever you two aren't busy."</p>
<p>"Whatever's good for you." Hatch added before stepping over to his wife. He smiled at Kilian before lightly touching his son's nose adding a popping sound when he did. Kilian squealed at the act and waved his hands trying to grab Hatch's finger. "We're very flexible."</p>
<p>"Same with Carleton?" John asked. He remembered them all remarking how Carleton would disappear for a few days on a job them show up again without a word to anyone about what he had done or seen. But he consistently would be there for you to assist in anything without the need of asking him.</p>
<p>"Carleton pops in and out like Stromcrow." Hatch explained earning a smirk from Tekla.</p>
<p>"Nice obscure literary reference." Tekla laughed.</p>
<p>"I do my best." He return the smile.</p>
<p>"You succeed." A twinkle entered Tekla's eyes and her smile morphed into a mischievous one.</p>
<p>"Just for you." Hatch smirked turned just as mischievous.</p>
<p>"Please stop." Sherlock deadpanned.</p>
<p>"Only for you Sweetie." Tekla winked at Sherlock and handed Kilian to Hatch. "We should get going; we have that thing at the thingamabob."</p>
<p>"Wasn't it that thingamajig that deals with that whatchamacallit?" Hatch asked looking at Tekla.</p>
<p>"Actually, it's the whatsis with the doodad."</p>
<p>"Oh, with the gismo."</p>
<p>"Really?" Sherlock could only shake his head in disbelief.</p>
<p>John was holding back a laugh; if it wasn't for the secrets John decided that he would very much like the Hatchersons.</p>
<p>
  <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
</p>
<p>Isabelle growled at the computer.</p>
<p>She had carefully cleaned any remnants of dried blood from the drive before inserting it into the computer. What popped up on her screen confirmed her suspicions – the drive was encrypted. Armed with cups of bad coffee, and a stubborn streak the size of the Atlantic ocean, she went to work.</p>
<p>Heaven help the poor soul who decided to approach her over the next two hours.</p>
<p>Taking a deep breath, Isabelle continued to glare at her computer. It was a tricky encryption, but fortunately at the end of the two hours she figured out the code. She now had the key, all she had to do was unlock it.</p>
<p>The reason for her less then sunny disposition was that she felt like it should not have taken as long as it did for her to figure out the encryption. She rested her head in the heel of her hand and glanced over to where she kept pictures on her desk. One was of her parents, taken just before her father was killed; they smiled at the camera unaware of the upcoming tragedy. Another was of her younger sister, Marguerite; all smiles and twinkle in her eye. Marguerite, or Margot as her family called her, was still in school studying history. Both girls were very close growing up and still were very close. Because of both girl's schedules they struggled to spend a good amount of time together, but somehow they managed.</p>
<p>Next to the picture of Margot was one of her boyfriend, the one who moved to New York to go to school. He had decided to go back to school after finally figuring out what he wanted to do. Isabelle was a bit surprised to hear that he wanted to go into film with the intention of direction. What really shocked her was he wanted to travel all the way to America for school. They had argued about his decision to go there; she had pushed for him to stay and he was set in his decision to go.</p>
<p>It's not that she did not want him to go to school, but to go to a school so far away was what worried her. The distance and the time difference was putting a lot of pressure on their relationship.</p>
<p>And Isabelle was tired of it.</p>
<p>The increased pressure of her current case was not helping the relationship either. But figuring out the encryption code did make her feel a bit better. A small win, but one nonetheless.</p>
<p>Hopefully she would have something for Lestrade when he came back from checking out a lead. Looking at her mug, she decided against coffee and opted for one of the bottle waters in her desk. Sighing she went to back work now focused on unlocking the encryption with the newly formed key.</p>
<p>An hour later Lestrade did return finding out very little on his venture other than he was beginning to feel the strain of the job on his body. First thing he noticed was Isabelle looking thoughtfully at her computer. He caught her eye and motioned to his office.</p>
<p>"Any news on the girl?" Isabelle asked as she followed him after locking the laptop and closing it. She closed the door behind her.</p>
<p>"Out of surgery and still unconscious." Lestrade sat at his desk. "It's a bit touch and go right now."</p>
<p>"Hope she pulls though." She said to no one in particular.</p>
<p>"What have you found?" He asked as soon as she sat down in front of him.</p>
<p>"A series of video files." She explained walking to his desk. She held up a USB drive; it was a different one, clear of blood. "I made a copy here and on some CDs; the original's in a safe, secure place. I haven't watched any of the videos."</p>
<p>Lestrade motioned for her to give him the drive. She tossed it to him before making her way around the desk to stand next to him. He plugged in the drive. When the dialogue box came up he clicked on the first video file.</p>
<p>A young man appeared on the screen; it was difficult to say if he was attractive or not due to his face being bloodied and disheveled. It was obvious that the man had seen better days and that his current state was done over the course of several days. The thing that really caught Isabelle's attention was the man was utterly frightened.</p>
<p>The man had his focus on whoever was behind the camera. Sure enough a second person appeared on the screen, but with the way the camera was angled it only allowed the shoulders down to be visible. By the build, the stranger was a man, tall and muscular. He wore a black apron over his clothes and thick rubber gloves that reached passed his elbows. There was a soft muffled thud with each step the man took as he circled around the bounded man.</p>
<p>"Name?" The second man asked. His voice sound like it was coming through a broken speaker.</p>
<p>"Jack?" The answer was shaky and uncertain. He eyed his captor with caution and fear as the man continued to circle him until he was behind the chair.</p>
<p>From a pocket of the apron the strange man pulled out a cut throat razor. There was a eerie flash of light as it reflected off the blade as it was folded out just behind Jack's head. The aproned man quickly administered cuts up Jack's upper arm and red spread over the dirty shirt. Jack's breathing quicken in the shock of the new injury, a look of pain etched over his face.</p>
<p>"I didn't ask for nicknames." The man walked from behind Jack sounding disappointed. He stood in front of Jack, blocking him from the view of the camera. An arm was quickly brought up and brought down just as fast.</p>
<p>Isabelle looked away despite nothing to be seen. The sound of wet gurgling rang out in her ears. Lestrade lowered the screen of his laptop after he paused it as the man moved away in case Isabelle turned back. It was one thing to see a dead body, but was completely different to see a newly dead person as life cooled from the body. But witnessing a crime as it happen knowing full well that there is nothing you can do rakes against a cop's nature.</p>
<p>"I think it's safe to assume," Lestrade began after he found his voice. "Based on the state of the victim in the video, that this USB drive and the yet to be identified girl in the hospital maybe related to our current case. I want plainclothes cops around her room in case another attempt is made her life. And call Sherlock."</p>
<p>"I'll update him on everything." She moved towards the door. It had not escaped her notice that Lestrade moved the screen to keep her from seeing the end results. For that she was grateful.</p>
<p>"Wait," Lestrade said just as she reached the door. She turned back, surprised written all over her face. "Tell Sherlock everything except about this USB drive."</p>
<p>"Why? How else would she connected to the case?"</p>
<p>"Based on what the doctors were telling me, her injuries are similar to our two victims." He sighed. "Plus, I want to be able to view everything of what is on this before Sherlock does." </p>
<p>"OK." Isabelle was still uncertain. "I don't understand, but I'll refrain from telling him. But won't he get mad?"</p>
<p>"It's not like he ever withheld evidence." Lestrade mumbled as he went searching through his desk looking for ear-buds to listen to the rest of the videos without the chance of being over heard.</p>
<p>Isabelle nodded and closed the door behind her.</p>
<p>"I hate this case." She said to herself as she dialed on her phone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah . . . I did warn everyone that this is a much darker story. Was it too much? Not enough? Please let me know what you thought. </p>
<p>Reviews are the only way fanfic writers get paid. I also take constructive criticisms with a side of fries.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Unfortunate Turn of Events</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The victim wakes up -- all Hell breaks loose.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Much thanks to 'a wolf is a perfect paradox' for all her help.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You have a living victim." It was not so much a question from Sherlock as a demand to know why he was not informed immediately of a new development in the case.</p><p>"I'm just as surprised as you." Lestrade sighed as he snatched back the doctor's report from Sherlock's hand. He then wondered how the consultant got his hands on it from his desk in the first place. "I wanted to make sure that she was actually connected to the case before letting you know."</p><p>"Has she said anything?" Sherlock asked.</p><p>"No; she slipped into unconsciousness before she was even loaded into the ambulance and as far as I know the paramedics didn't hear her say anything before that." After reviewing everything on the drive, Lestrade wanted to tell Sherlock about the USB drive, but Lucas had been very strict concerning who knew what regarding that. He believed these cases were truly linked and that sitting on the information, keeping it from Sherlock, was only delaying things and allowing for more victims like the ones in the video.</p><p>"Boss," Isabelle approached the pair with her phone still to her ear and she was pointing to it. "Hospital - vic just woke up."</p><p>"Right, let them know we'll be right there." He was glad that they called; he hoped that the girl could provide some light on the case but mostly he was glad that she did not die. He did not need this case to have more blood on its hands. He turned to Sherlock. "You coming?"</p><p>"I'll follow – "</p><p>"Behind in a cab." Lestrade knew the response well; it was good to hear it again - despite everything going on.</p><p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p>Sherlock actually smirked at the Detective Inspector as the older man followed his Sergeant; he had forgotten how much he enjoyed working with Lestrade.</p>
  <p>Not that Sherlock would ever tell him.</p>
  <p>
    <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
  </p>
  <p>Sherlock retrieved John from Mary's before heading to the hospital. Mary herd them out the door after slipping John's jacket over his shoulders and giving him a kiss on the check; all with a smile on her face and a wave to Sherlock. When they arrived Lestrade and Isabelle were just beginning to talk with the doctor.</p>
  <p>"To be perfectly honest, I'm surprised the girl is even alive." The doctor remarked as Sherlock and John joined them.</p>
  <p>"What is the extent of her injuries?" Lestrade began.</p>
  <p>"Besides the cuts that cover a good portion of her body, there are signs of minor electrical burns on her back, massive blood loss which made detox a bit difficult, we noticed bruising around her wrists and ankles indicating she was tied up in some way, and I doubt she's had much in the way of sustenance." The doctor listed off. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's completely traumatized in one way or another." </p>
  <p>"Detox?" Isabelle looked up from her notebook. "How could you tell she was drugged?"</p>
  <p>"Lack of response in her eyes and after we cleaned the blood off I noticed multiple pinpricks, so I tested to be safe." The doctor explained while going through the papers on his clip broad. "I took the liberty of making a copy of the tox screen."</p>
  <p>Sherlock snagged away the results before Isabelle had a chance to put out her hand. She just looked on in mild surprised before making a note. Lestrade rolled his eyes and John pinched the bridge of his nose, they both remembered past experience; Sherlock was in his element and there was no reasoning with him. Thankfully, Isabelle seemed to have much more patience than Sally and thus, was able to deal much better with Sherlock's focused and yet sometimes rude behavior.</p>
  <p>"Most of these you can't even get outside the black market." Sherlock said still reading the report. "Some are highly regulated."</p>
  <p>"Do I even want to know how you know that?" Isabelle asked with an expression best described as a mix between leery and perplexity.</p>
  <p>"No." John and Lestrade said in unison at different degrees of deadpan.</p>
  <p>"Did you find chloroform burns around her mouth?" Sherlock asked.</p>
  <p>"I didn't check for that." The doctor confessed. "I've been more focus on getting and keeping her stable."</p>
  <p>"Thank you, doctor," Lestrade said before Sherlock say anything against the doctor. "You've been most helpful."</p>
  <p>"Has she said anything?" Sherlock asked choosing to ignore Lestrade for the moment.</p>
  <p>After looking back and forth between the two men the doctor shook his head. "I'm lucky if she even acknowledges me. You can try talking with her, but not too long. She's been through a lot."</p>
  <p>"We understand." Lestrade nodded.</p>
  <p>"Give a yell if you need anything." The doctor called back as he walked towards the nurses' station.</p>
  <p>"Bordeaux, I want you out here so we're not disturbed." Lestrade ordered. The plainclothes officers were patrolling the floors immediately above and below as well as the stairwells leaving Isabelle to stand guard the floor. Not ideal in case something occurred, but better than nothing and they did not want to draw any attention to the victim.</p>
  <p>"Sure thing Boss." She nodded, pocketing her notebook. "I'll chat with the nurses see if I can find anything else."</p>
  <p>Inside the room there was an odd eerie clinical feel as the monitors beeped and chirped. She was alone and, surprisingly, sitting up on the bed with her legs hanging over the side, looking out the window. Her hair had been braided and was swept over her shoulder. John noticed her arms hanging at her sides were completely bandaged and he assumed her legs were in a similar state as well. The top of the hospital gown had not been tied close exposing the base of her neck and upper back on which could be seen some of the cuts; they looked ghastly against her sickly pale skin. John was sure that there was probably extensive bruising all over her; it only made sense for the amount of damaged done to her.</p>
  <p>John did not need to see her eyes to know they looked haunted. Her body posture screamed survivor of horror. He thought he had left that behind in Afghanistan. With Sherlock he gained the thrill of adventure but none of the nightmares of battle.</p>
  <p>He wanted to tell the girl to lay down, she should be laying down, not sitting. But then again the girl was probably taking in the sight of the mere outside that might have been denied to her. Besides she had enough doctors and nurses telling what to do since she woke up. She did not need another doctor with well intentioned orders.</p>
  <p>"I'm Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade," He said as he eased himself into her view as to not startled her and held up his badge so she could see. "I like to ask you a few question if you're up to it."</p>
  <p>She titled her head and looked at Lestrade.</p>
  <p>A response – that was a good sign.</p>
  <p>John felt his stomach twist into knots when he finally saw her face. The cuts there made her face slightly swollen with unsightly hues of dark yellow and grays. The doctor had done an excellent job patching her up, and over time the cuts would heal, but scars would take their place forever reminding the girl of her ordeal. No one ever would see her, they would just see her scars.</p>
  <p>When her vacant eyes caught John's, he looked away. He did not want her to believe that he was staring at her. With that thought he turned to Sherlock to remind him to be delicate with his questioning and in general tread carefully, but nothing came out. John's gentle reminders were stopped in their tracks by Sherlock's expression of utter and complete shock.</p>
  <p>"Sherlock?" John whispered; he was very concern now. Surely, Sherlock, who dissected eyeballs in the kitchen and had only last week made Baker Street unbreathable due to a chemical mix could not go into shock or swoon to a faint -- was not in his nature to do so.</p>
  <p>But his friend did not respond to his name and continued to gape at the girl and he did indeed look like he was going into shock.</p>
  <p>"Enola?" Sherlock's tone right then was one that John hated. It was the one he used with John just before that horrible jump. One of fear and desperation; a man with nothing to lose and no way out. It felt like a punch to John's gut whenever he heard it, which thankfully was not often.</p>
  <p>"You know her?" Lestrade was surprised, both by Sherlock's knowledge and the way he spoke.</p>
  <p>If Sherlock was going to explain they did not know. Before anyone realized it the girl was off the bed pushing Sherlock to the wall with her forearm press against his throat.</p>
  <p>Without thinking twice, John grabbed the girl to get her off of Sherlock. But she successfully elbowed him in the solar plexus causing him to stumble back and gasp for air.</p>
  <p>Lestrade made an attempt to separate them, but the girl jabbed him in several places across his chest, a kick to the knees and the altercation ended with the Detective Inspector kneeling on the floor looking up at the end of his own gun. He looked past his gun as he raised his hands attempting to show that he was not going to try anything else; it was frightful how calm and calculating she looked, as if debating whether or not to shoot him. There was the odd sensation of seeing a person holding a gun to your head and said person mechanically going through the motions. Like it was preset into her waiting for a cue to set it off.</p>
  <p>All the while she kept one hand tightly around Sherlock's throat as he gasped for breath.</p>
  <p>"Enola," Sherlock choked out as he busied himself on trying to loosen her grip. "Elle!"</p>
  <p>The gun lowered and her grip loosened. Suddenly the cold, unseeing eyes her replaced with shock and confusion as if realizing exactly her current whereabouts and current actions. She looked back at Sherlock and she removed her arm quickly, surprised by its location.</p>
  <p>Still on the ground gasping for breath, John's mind assaulted him with memories of a young traumatized girl screaming at the sight of Sherlock. He begged that this was not a repeat of that; he could not be able to deal with it. It would be too much.</p>
  <p>Isabelle burst in hearing the sudden commotion, gun at the ready, and was not quite sure what to make of the scene before her. She slowly approached the girl and gently removed the firearm from the now frighten girl's grasp. Looking to Lestrade, she silently asked what happen. Her face had the appropriate amount of surprised confusion on her face directed to Lestrade and no one else. He could only minutely shrug his shoulders; he was just as confused as anyone in the room. Hell, he could not even tell how she got the jump on him.</p>
  <p>Well, except for Sherlock; it seemed that he knew what was going on. Not taking his eyes off of the girl he slowly raised his hands to show that they were empty. John was surprised when Sherlock also pushed up his sleeves one at a time so she could see his arms.</p>
  <p>She watched intently then slowly nodded, but uncertainty still shone in her face.</p>
  <p>"Out," Lestrade ordered Sherlock as he stood up from the ground. It seemed to John that he too was afraid they were about to have another screaming incident. That would be too much for all of them.</p>
  <p>"I'm not leaving," Sherlock stated as Lestrade moved to escort him out. He pushed away from Lestrade and moved towards the girl, ignoring any protestations.</p>
  <p>"Look, you can't – "</p>
  <p>"John, call Mycroft." Sherlock cut off Lestrade nearly shouting over him, his eyes never straying from the girl. She, too, kept her eyes on him as he came closer to her. Sherlock, with a gentility that John had only seen him display with Mrs. Hudson, placed his hands on her shoulders. She did not rebuke the touch. "Tell him . . . tell him that Enola is here." He said with a softer voice.</p>
  <p>"Who's Enola?" Isabelle asked still confused and very much out of the loop.</p>
  <p>"My sister."</p>
  <p>Here, the girl melted into his arms with wide, uncertain eyes, and Sherlock just held her looking so lost at what to do.</p>
  <p>
    <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
  </p>
  <p>John was beside himself.</p>
  <p>He knew Sherlock had a brother, so he wondered at why he did not know about his sister. John could almost, <em>almost</em>, understand Sherlock not talking about his time on the run but again having a sister is not necessarily a bad thing – John would know.</p>
  <p>The doctor and nurse came in the room soon after Sherlock's revelation, pushing past Isabelle, and eased the girl, Enola, back into bed and ushered them all out. It took all of John and Lestrade's encouragement to coax Sherlock from the room; he seemed fixated and determined to stay.</p>
  <p>As they moved into the hall, Sherlock could not take his eyes off of his sister. She only stared at him; the empty stare unnerved John and he even shuddered when she briefly glanced at him. Once in the hallway John sat Sherlock down so he could properly examine his neck. Bruises were already beginning to form. To his surprise, Sherlock slipped into a stun stupor, the type of thing usually seen in the families of victims of crime. John continued to assess him, pretending not to notice; he knew how much it would wound Sherlock's pride to be ordinary. With the assistance of Isabelle, John was able to get Sherlock to Isabelle's car.</p>
  <p>Just before the exited the building Isabelle started talking. She talked about the merits of certain interview techniques to use with witnesses and spoke as though the topic had been discussed for a while.</p>
  <p>John was confused until he realized that Isabelle's ramblings were directed towards Sherlock, not himself. Somehow it leaked that Sherlock was consulting with the police on an interesting case and there was a small crowd of reporters outside.</p>
  <p>Isabelle, despite not fully understanding what had just transpired, was shielding Sherlock from the journalist wolves that shouted their questions and remarks at them. As they approached her car, Isabelle switched her subject matter to a mild complaint about Sherlock not listening as he thought over the case.</p>
  <p>"You talk to him." She said to John once they had gotten Sherlock in the back seat. There was a slight exasperation to her voice, playing up the façade. "Maybe he'll listen to you."</p>
  <p>Taking the hint, John slid in next to Sherlock in the back as Isabelle took to the wheel and drove off.</p>
  <p>"You have a sister." John did not quite ask, nor did he quite state it. He was not sure how he felt.</p>
  <p>Sherlock nodded, he was getting a better handle on his shock.</p>
  <p>"Enola," He repeated her name for John. It seemed to be all he could get out at the moment so he fell into silence just as Isabelle slipped into the driver's seat.</p>
  <p>That was the extent of their conversation in the car. Isabelle knew better than to try to start one.</p>
  <p>
    <em>-MHSHEH-</em>
  </p>
  <p>Mycroft heard the soft taps of men's dress shoes against the hospital floor approach him. Judging by the footfalls, he knew exactly who was approaching him.</p>
  <p>"How did you get past security?" Mycroft asked, not taking his eyes off of the sleeping form of his sister. He had wasted no time after receiving John's call getting to the hospital and had his people look into the security of it. He was not going to risk anything when it came to his young sister.</p>
  <p>He did wonder how much John knew about Enola and the occupational field she had chosen. The short call had given no indication. He had been well aware that Sherlock wanted to explain everything to John the moment he returned to London. But after one, annoying, and unnecessary inquest, Mycroft found himself at the receiving end of a scathing stare from one John Watson indicating Sherlock had not told him everything.</p>
  <p>But that was something to handle at another time.</p>
  <p>"The reliable combination of a lab coat, a clip broad, and the attitude of belonging in the setting." Wilhelm tossed the said lab coat over his arm and removed the black thick-framed glasses from his face. "How's she doing?"</p>
  <p>"Lucky to be alive." Mycroft replied grimly. He informed Wilhelm of what the doctor had said and held out a folder to him; he knew that the Professor would come and was prepared. "I took the liberty of finalizing the story we agreed upon. No questions will be raised to the validity of your and Amelia's relationship with my family."</p>
  <p>Wilhelm skimmed the contents of the file. "You work fast. I know Sherlock will go along with this once we explain, but I must inquire of Violet."</p>
  <p>"My mother hasn't concerned herself with her younger children since my father's untimely passing." Mycroft said evenly. "She has little reason to be knowledgeable of their affairs. I highly doubt that she would want to get involved after this."</p>
  <p>"I see," Wilhelm nodded. It was a conversation that was often held between both men, but as always it lead nowhere in particular; neither wished to openly acknowledge the lack of regard Violet Holmes showed towards her younger children. It was, for a lack of a better descriptive, difficult to discuss and even more difficult to explain to said children if they ever found out. He followed Mycroft's gaze to Enola. "Did I read Sherlock's text correctly about him being attacked by Elle?"</p>
  <p>"She nearly pulled out her IV trying to get away from me when I entered the room." Mycroft was surprised to receive a text from John, of all people, informing him of Enola's presence in the hospital. By the text Mycroft wondered if Sherlock finally told John about their sister, but when he arrived it was not difficult to discern that the good doctor just found out.</p>
  <p>Damage control was in the near future.</p>
  <p>"Anyone else?"</p>
  <p>"A few bruises on the other two, but nothing too serious." Mycroft would not have believed what John told him over what occurred. But it was hard to deny when he saw the marks beginning to form on his brother's neck. Very hard indeed.</p>
  <p>"Mycroft," Wilhelm began slowly. "I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to be completely honest with me. No word play, no hidden intentions – I want complete, unconditional honesty."</p>
  <p>"Go on."</p>
  <p>"What do you want me to do?"</p>
  <p>To understand the gravity of the situation, one must consider the weight of the question. This was never a question that Wilhelm asked lightly. When dealing with his clients he inquired as to what they wanted from them. All of them just wanted help in any form; to get back up on their feet, wanting the person exposed so they would not hurt others, a chance to start over, or sometimes simply and most sadly, to be given back basic hope.</p>
  <p>Wilhelm never gave the option to his clients to request certain actions from him. He knew that some in the mist of their confusion and anguish will ask something quite not good. Something that was not part of who they were and that they would certainly regret later when their minds had cleared.</p>
  <p>But here stood two men looking at the sleeping person who strangely brought them together and both men wished to give the best. If they were anyone else, they would have been prone to anger and a passionate thirst of revenge and pain. But they were men who knew better than to react with incensed rage.</p>
  <p>Though of course, as the Bard once stated, revenge is best served cold; The two men from their different backgrounds had trained themselves to react calmly, coldly, with a precision that would strike deep into their enemies crippling them.</p>
  <p>Mycroft looked to Wilhelm. "What is needed."</p>
  <p>The question asked.</p>
  <p>The answer given.</p>
  <p>Thus, the deal was struck, and sealed.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*Hides behind a giant book* Please don't hate me for what I did to Enola! </p><p>I should note that when I first plotted this story out, we as an audience, had not met the Holmes parents. While I love the parents when they appeared, it just didn't work for this story. Plus (as I stated in 'Unseen Factor') I was annoyed with Violet Holmes from the Enola Holmes books for just up and leaving her daughter alone when she was barely a teenager.</p><p>Reviews are the only way I get paid!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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